It Happened At Grassby's
by fiveby10eighty3
Summary: What if William Mason died and rose from the dead? What did the others at Downton feel about his resurrection, especially Daisy? Will it be a happy ending for them both? Centers on William, Daisy, and the other characters. Downton Abbey, and its characters (with the exception of a few major and minor original characters) of course, is owned by Julian Fellowes and Carnival.
1. Like Jesus and Lazarus

**Hi! I know, another William/Daisy fic. I love them both so much and I felt that there's not enough of them over here. I talked this over with** _thatdragonchic_-**hi, there! And we thought of this what-if story, how things would happen if William rose from the dead. Please feel free to provide feedback-I'd love to know what you guys think!**

* * *

_July 1918_

Daisy Robinson, now Daisy Mason, stared numbly at her left hand. The ring, a reminder of her new status in life winked at her. The fading light of the summer's day reflected on it, and it gleamed in a slightly dull gold glow. Daisy tried to block everything that happened today. But she couldn't. Everything happened so fast, almost like a blur. She remembered being dressed up by Anna and the new maid Jane Moorsum, a widow of a man who died in the Somme. Her hair was curled; Anna had used the electric curling tongs with the permission of Lady Mary, and a bit of lip rouge courtesy of Jane.

_Married for less than twenty-four hours_. As Lady Sybil would say, it was grim.

_He doesn't need you no more, Daisy. He doesn't need none of us no more._

Daisy remembered her father-in-law taking her hands while saying this to her. The poor, kind man no longer had his own son, all because of a wretched war. She didn't know what to feel about it, honestly. Her best friend in the whole world was forever gone. William had forever closed his lovely blue eyes; she would never see his shy, sweet smile ever again. Tears rolled down Daisy's pale cheeks. While she still felt like a fraud about marrying him, she could only look back on how happy he had been. She wasn't happy about it at first, but after she kissed him at their wedding, some of her doubts had fled, and realised that it had been worth making (and seeing) her best friend smile before he died.

Someone was knocking softly on her door. Reluctantly, Daisy got up from her bed. She had been hugging her knees and sitting up alternately since she had come up to her room after the men from Grassby's came to take William's body away. Opening the door, she saw Anna, Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes standing outside her room. Daisy no longer had any roommate ever since Milly Flanagan left to become a VAD in France, so she felt she could let these three women in without being worried about any interruptions.

"May we come in?" asked Mrs. Hughes. Daisy looked up, and said "Yes," rather wearily. Mrs. Hughes' eyes were red and puffy; so were Mrs. Patmore's and Anna's. Daisy felt bad over her own relatively dry eyes. Thankfully, the three older women in front of her had different ideas as they came inside the room. "We imagine that you're trying to be strong, my lass," said Mrs. Hughes sadly. "But it doesn't hurt to grieve."

"I—" Daisy began, but she trailed off as Mrs. Hughes put her hand on her shoulder. The housekeeper went on. "You poor lassie. You must have had a hard slog of it." _Hard was an understatement_, Daisy thought, considering how the housekeeper and the cook took their turns in convincing—no, _browbeating_ her into marrying William.

"You must be tired, you poor girl." Anna said, "Come and sit. It's no good for you to be pacing around."

_I need to walk around. I need to do something and they've given me the rest of the day off. I wish they'd let me work instead,_ Daisy thought. At the same time, she felt tired and deflated for some reason. Numbly, Daisy sat on her bed, beside Mrs. Patmore and put her arms around herself. She felt so cold, oddly cold. No—it wasn't that. Her spine felt tickly, and her hairs stood on end.

_Why do I feel this way?_

"Daisy, you're white as a sheet!" chorused Anna and Mrs. Patmore.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Daisy said in a small voice, to no one in particular. The three older women started to fuss over her. Anna picked up the nightdress at the foot of Daisy's bed. "Get yourself changed into this," she said, in her gentle, yet slightly businesslike tone. "You're staying up here." Daisy nodded meekly and watched as Anna and Mrs. Hughes left the room.

But Beryl Patmore stayed a little longer. "You stay and rest, love. I'll have Alice send up a tray for you." In a rare, gentle gesture, she laid her hand on Daisy's head, to check if she had fever and she could tell Elsie Hughes to go up with the Beecham's Powder. "I feel odd," Daisy confessed to her superior.

"How?" Beryl asked.

Daisy sat up in bed, closed her eyes, opened them again, and said rather thoughtfully, "Do you remember that day that I stopped what I was doing an' I said that someone walked over me grave? An' it turned out that it was the exact moment that William got hurt. I felt that way awhile ago. "

"Only Jesus and Lazarus rose from the grave, Daisy." Beryl, in a strange way, got her subordinate's drift.

"I must be going mad," Daisy sighed. "Forget what I said."

"I'll be back...or I'll send Mrs. Hughes up for you to take Beecham's Powder. Rest well."

* * *

Unbeknownst to cook and kitchen maid, William Mason woke to consciousness inside the Grassby's van. He had the oddest feeling of having gotten out of a tunnel—a dark one, then getting out into beautiful place with a kindly vision telling him to go back where he came from.

William didn't get to see what the "vision" clearly looked like, though. He could only remember being told, "My child, you have another chance. Go and be happy with your wife. You will be happy, I tell you. I won't let you into my gates just yet." Like a whoosh, he was transported back to earth again, and drifted into life by—a jolt caused by a stone in the road.

"Owww..." mumbled William. He opened his eyes. It was dark as Egypt during the plague. Was he dead again? But he could open his eyes. Surely that should be a sign that he was in the land of the living again. _Or do dead people lose their sense of location if they came back to life?_ But he had little contact with people who died and lived again, so he wouldn't know. He also noticed that wherever he was, it was moving.

_Why?_

_Where am I? Why am I here?_

_What's going on?_

William also found that he couldn't breathe. _He needed air._ So he tried to kick open the door with as much strength he could muster. It didn't open. So he kicked again. He was lucky though, since the moving stopped, and two men opened the door. The small, thin man was the first to speak. "What in God's name is going on?" the man named Mr. John Merriwether (William later found out that he was Mr. Grassby's son-in-law) asked. Mr. Merriwether was also white as a sheet. Probably whiter than the one covering William's pyjama clad body. _How did this happen_? The two men looked at each other, and at William, who was sitting up. _We were perfectly sure he was dead when we brought him in._

"You were _dead_ when we got you in this van," stuttered Mr. Jedidiah Stubbs, one of the undertakers.

"Well, I'm alive now," William pointed out.

"Such a smart mouth on you, and you just came back from the dead," snapped Mr. Stubbs.

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to offend," William apologised humbly. "What I mean is—why am I here? I woke up here in the van. Why am I not in Downton?"

"Methinks you have to get in with us. Mason—William, aren't you?" William nodded at Mr. Merriwether.

"Yes sir."

John Merriwether jerked his chin up. "Well my lad, we best get inside my father-in-law's office. This one's for the books. You died and rose again. Just like Jesus and Lazarus." William gave a weak smile at this. Mr. Stubbs took another look at William to be sure that he wasn't seeing someone's apparition. "Well, you look right famished. Best you get a bite and a cuppa tea."

* * *

"So...do you remember anything at all before you died and went back to life?" a perplexed Martin Grassby asked William, who just finished eating his second scone. Tea was served by Mr. Grassby's daughter, the wife of Mr. Merriwether.

William took a sip of tea before he started his short narration. "I was in Amiens—in France with Captain Matthew Crawley—His Lordship's cousin. I was his soldier servant. Before I left His Lordship's employ, I was engaged to a kitchen maid. When Captain Crawley and me were in Amiens, it was such a bloody battle. A shell exploded an' it was going to hit him an' kill him. So I blocked him, an' we fell down that crater. When we came to, Captain Crawley was sent back to Downton, an' me to Leeds. They told me I was goin' to die because my lungs were badly damaged and I only had days to live. So I asked the kitchen maid—Daisy's her name—to marry me soon because I've not much time, an' we did get married—I felt bad about leaving her alone in the world—she hasn't got family. 'Course, 'cept my dad."

"Well, you needn't worry about it now," said Mr. Stubbs rather pertly.

"You're right," William was in concurrence.

"Someone has to ring up Lord Grantham," Mr. Merriwether reminded them.

"Mr. Carson will need smelling salts. Or Major Clarkson. He'll faint into a heap if he hears of this." William said.


	2. Not A Joke

Tea-time at the Servants' Hall at Downton Abbey was a sombre affair. William Mason just passed away after a heartbreaking deathbed wedding, and the undertakers took his body from the south gallery bedroom fifteen minutes ago. His widow, the young Daisy the kitchen maid was too distraught to think of coming down, something that Charles Carson, the butler understood. In fact, he was waiting for a phone call from Grassby's to make sure if William Mason would be collected, and taken to a small room in Downton before his funeral.

"When is the funeral going to be?" asked Jane Moorsum, the newest member of the household staff.

"Day after tomorrow, I suppose, other arrangements have to be made," Mrs. Hughes said sadly.

Charles Carson, however, took no part in the conversation. The death of the former second footman affected him like he never thought possible. William Mason was a good lad; there was no doubt about that. William got along well with everybody, from His Lordship to Mr. Linton, the estate's crabby head gardener. He was a good worker too, always willing to help, willing to learn a new skill. Charles always thought of naming William as his successor one day, instead of the scheming Thomas Barrow, who, today, was nowhere to be found. Probably he went back to his duties as Downton also served as a convalescent home. Then again, Thomas always made it clear that he was no longer a servant at Downton now; that he was now Acting Sergeant Barrow.

The shrill, piercing ringing of the telephone interrupted his musings. Reluctantly, he stood up to answer the call in his pantry. Likely it was Mr. Grassby telling him that William was already laid out and his remains would be returned to Downton.

"Downton Abbey, this is Charles Carson, butler, speaking."

"Ah, Mr. Carson! It...I must say it is a relief to speak to you. We...we have a delicate situation here." It was Martin Grassby, current manager of the Grassby's Undertaking Service.

"Delicate? What do you mean delicate?" Carson bristled.

"It's difficult to explain over the telephone, Mr. Carson," Mr. Grassby replied.

"Well, you're an Englishman. I'm sure you're well acquainted with the English language as to be able to tell us when are we to expect the remains of William Mason to be brought to Downton Abbey!"

"Well, that's the thing," was Mr. Grassby's patient reply. "There are no remains to speak of, Mr. Carson. William Mason rose from the dead."

"_What?"_

"Mr. William Mason rose from the dead, Mr. Carson."

"How on earth could that have happened?" asked a flabbergasted Charles Carson.

"I think you should come here personally, Mr. Carson. It's highly unusual."

"Oh, I say. Let me inform His Lordship first."

* * *

Robert Crawley, Lord Grantham sat and read the papers. He couldn't seem to get his mind out of his latest worry—he and Mary had just arrived from the Downton hospital—and things seemed bleak for Matthew. He had also heard that William Mason passed away, and they were only waiting for Grassby's to deliver his remains back to Downton where a short service would be made for him and a funeral. Robert wondered if Mr. Mason was contacted about the arrangements. He would ask Edith to drive him to the Mason's farmhouse. Robert made a mental note to ask Carson what the servants had planned for their fallen former fellow servant.

Charles Carson, however, made such mental note unnecessary. He swallowed hard, since it was going to sound he had gone mad. But he had to tell his Lordship what he and the undertakers had discussed. He cleared his throat, and Lord Grantham paused from whatever he was doing and looked up at him.

"My Lord, may I have a moment?"

"Certainly Carson, do you have any idea about the servants would do for William? A token of remembrance perhaps? Flowers? A testimonial?" Lord Grantham asked. The butler hedged a little, and then sighed, prompting his employer to frown a little and ask, "I say, what's going on, Carson?" Charles sighed again. "I am afraid you might think that I am going mad, but the truth is, Mr. Martin Grassby rang me earlier. He tells me that William Mason has risen from the dead."

"Carson, I never knew you were fond of telling jokes made in bad taste," said the earl, rather reproachfully. "William has served this house faithfully for years and..."

Charles Carson was persistent. He replied, "My Lord, Mr. Grassby isn't in the habit of making ribald jokes either."

Lord Grantham's blue-grey eyes widened. "Good God, Carson, _is this true?_ _William is alive?_" The butler nodded, and added, "My Lord, Mr. Grassby has requested that we come personally so we can see for ourselves."

"I would like very much to come with you. Sadly, Mr. Branson is with Lady Mary, Lady Sybil, and Miss Swire at the hospital. Can you get one of the maids to call Lady Edith?" Carson nodded. "Very good, my Lord. I shall send Mrs. Hughes or the maids up to her." Robert closed his eyes for a while, and then he remembered something. I heard from Mama that William had married Daisy before he died. Has she been informed of this...startling news?" Carson shook his head no, but he promised to tell her.

Charles Carson went back downstairs to look for Mrs. Elsie Hughes, the housekeeper. A steady, sensible Scotchwoman, she rarely indulged in the luxury of tears and grief. But this was an exception. The death of William Mason wrung nearly everybody's hearts, even the taciturn, scheming Sarah O' Brien. His widow was another matter. Daisy Mason was stonily stoic, almost brittle. Then again, people coped with grief differently.

* * *

Charles found Elsie Hughes in her sitting room. "Can I have a word with you for the moment?" The housekeeper nodded. "What is it?" she asked.

The butler could no longer contain it. "William Mason is not dead. Mr. Grassby said he rose from the dead." Thankfully, Elsie stood near her desk and was able to grab the back of the chair. She went a little pale. "Good heavens, Mr. Carson. The lad just died. Now is not the time to make unpleasant jokes at his expense." Elsie Hughes spoke sternly, her mouth a thin, hard line. Carson's serious mien interrupted Elsie's train of thought. "You know that Martin Grassby has no sense of humour whatsoever. The lad really rose from the dead. I think that Daisy should be informed."

"You mean he _really_ did?"

Carson nodded. "Yes. That was Mr. Grassby on the phone earlier. He called to tell us of what transpired in his ambulance van. His poor son-in-law, the one driving it was in a state of shock, he managed to drive back safely to the office."

"Does His Lordship know?" Elsie asked. The butler affirmed it, by replying. "Yes. In fact, we are going there right now. Unfortunately, Mr. Branson is with Ladies Mary and Sybil and Miss Swire. His Lordship requests that you send up a maid to Lady Edith's room, to send her ladyship to the drawing room. She is to drive us to Grassby's, and to Mr. Mason's farm."

"Won't the poor man have a heart attack?" queried Elsie.

"It's a risk we have to take."

"Very well. I will send Alice to Lady Edith."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. Will you tell Daisy what just happened?" The housekeeper nodded. "The poor girl. She's all very upset." Elsie had plenty of reason to feel for the kitchen maid. She knew that in her own way, Daisy Mason loved William. Elsie remembered that Daisy brightened up whenever a letter from William came from the front. When there wasn't any, the lass moped but she still was able to deliver. And when news arrived that he was injured, Daisy was the first one who inquired of his welfare.

If that wasn't love, Elsie thought, she didn't know what was.

* * *

**There! I finally wrote it! It took a hard time to figure out how I'd get around writing this chapter-especially the reactions of Mr. Carson and Mr. Hughes, as well as Lord Grantham's. It was a bit difficult, I admit. Next chapter-Daisy hears from Mrs. Hughes that...**


	3. The Widow Who Learns She Is Not A Widow

Daisy stared at her deceased husband's picture. He had sent it to her when he was already in the front for a month—the early part of 1918. He carried his soldier's hat in front of his chest, his face solemn. Mrs. Patmore sat on her bed, brushing her (Daisy's) hair. The cook had given herself another five minutes and then she would see to the meals. She would have to make do with Bonnie Hardy for today. There was a knock on the door. "Come in," Daisy's soft voice was almost childlike.

The door opened, and it was Mrs. Hughes. The cook rose to acknowledge her friend and superior. The housekeeper was biting her lip. "I do think that it's best that you sit down, Beryl," she told Mrs. Patmore, who looked up. Beryl Patmore sat down again. Daisy turned her large grey-blue eyes at Mrs. Hughes. "Are they bringing William back to Downton, Mrs. Hughes?" she asked. Mrs. Hughes' breath began to hitch. "Well...the thing is, William is being brought back. But...not in a coffin."

"Beggin' your pardon Mrs. Hughes, he's dead now, ain't he? He's supposed to be in a coffin." Daisy was perplexed.

"Well..." the housekeeper hedged.

"Can you please tell me what's going on, Elsie? Or shall we wait for the war to end?" Beryl Patmore asked her friend irascibly. However, the housekeeper ignored her friend's sarcasm.

"William Mason rose from the dead, Daisy."

"Get out, Elsie, you don't make jokes like that." Flabbergasted, Beryl Patmore clamped her hand to her mouth.

"You know me very well, Beryl...so you know this _isn't_ a joke. I thought Mr. Carson was joking when he told me. But he wasn't. Mr. Grassby told him the most extraordinary thing. When his son-in-law and the undertaker opened the ambulance van of the undertaker's company, they had the shock of their lives! They saw William Mason, slightly irate, gasping for air. Apparently, he had been trying to kick open the van door so he could get some air. We'll know the rest later, from the horse's mouth, so to speak. Daisy my lass, I'm not cancelling your leave. In fact, I'll extend it. Consider it a sort of honeymoon. You have to spend time with your husband. What can I say...a modern-day Lazarus."

"All right...Mrs. Hughes...thank you," said Daisy faintly.

Beryl Patmore was silent. She felt her hairs stand on end. "Are you sure you are not related to a Scotswoman, Daisy? You were right...I do think you have second sight."

"I'm not seeing no visions, Mrs. Patmore. And Mrs. Hughes is Scottish. She hasn't been seeing things, has she?"

* * *

Truth be told, Edith Violet Crawley was more than willing to accompany father and butler. When Alice, one of the maids said that his lordship asked for her presence at the drawing room, she responded with alacrity. After the sad deathbed wedding, Edith tried to distract herself by helping Captain Smiley write a letter to his mother, by reading a story to Private Leonard, and delivering books to Major Bryant, whose very presence made her feel uncomfortable. She didn't know why, but she did. When she heard that William died, she allowed herself a few moments to weep. It was odd, but during the few days that she looked after the former second footman, she got to know him better (which was ironic, considering all those years he had worked in her father's employ—but she was a different Edith six years ago) and took a liking. He was a kind, thoughtful boy who never saw evil in anyone, even Thomas Barrow. Her father sent for her in the drawing room. He was pale but resolute, and Mr. Carson was well, looking like he saw a ghost. _What on earth was going on?_

"It's the most extraordinary thing..." her father kept saying.

"Papa?" Edith asked.

"My darling girl, are you well enough to drive this afternoon? We are to undertake a special errand. I already asked Isobel if she can find somebody else to cover for you for at least a few hours. We're going to Grassby's."

"Grassby's?" echoed Edith rather stupidly.

"Well...you see, my lady, Mr. Grassby rang earlier to say that there won't be any funeral at all. William Mason rose from the dead." Mr. Carson said. Edith observed that the butler was in a daze when he said it.

Edith was unable to believe it.

"It's true, my dear. William is alive," Lord Grantham said. "And that's why we're going to Grassby's. I've arranged it with Cousin Isobel so you can drive us. First stop to Grassby's and to the Mason's farmhouse." Edith nodded. She didn't know why, but even at this time, she loved being useful. "We'll need something to make him feel comfortable," Edith said. Her mouth in a thoughtful line, she continued enumerating the things they'll need. "Cushions, blankets—I'll get some from my room." She spied a maid going about in the hallway. "Madge!" she called. "Will you be kind to get the two cushions from my chaise in my room? And ask for a blanket from Mrs. Hughes. If you see Mrs. Patmore, could you request for some sandwiches—and some tea in a flask. Quickly, please."

"Yes, my lady," Madge said. (Later on downstairs, Madge was to tell everyone that William Mason rose from the dead. Felix, the sceptical hall boy said, "Likely it was only a ghost." A scullery maid boxed his ears said, "Don't be so stupid. Madge said that his lordship was with him!")

After the necessary accoutrements were gathered and placed in the car, Edith and her father seated themselves in the front, ignoring Carson's protests that he be seated at the back. "It will be nice for William to be seated next to the person he admires the most," Edith told the butler, as she started the engine of the car and started to drive

"I beg your pardon, my lady?"

"Oh, he told me. Days before—he died. He said that he's always looked up to you, the day he first stepped into Downton. His mother wanted him to be a butler someday, and so, he applied to be a footman, even when he wanted to be groom. William admitted he was a bit terrified of you, but he soon got over it and tried to work hard at becoming like you."

It must be confessed that the butler's eyes misted a little. "You know very well my lady that butlers cannot get married," Carson said. "Still, we can find some sort of exception. William is a good lad and he is a good worker. But after this, I don't think he can do much heavy work. What can he do? He is married to Daisy, and I believe he wouldn't like the thought of Daisy earning their daily bread by herself."

"I'll speak to Mr. Crawley. Maybe we can arrange something. From what I gathered while visiting him in the hospital, he's become quite attached to William. For now, the lad needs to get his strength back." Lord Grantham said. Both Edith and Carson agreed.

The drive to Malton, where the Mason farmhouse was located, was quite pleasant. William eyed the scenery happily. But he was worried that his father might take a bad turn. "After all, he thinks I'm already dead," William reflected. "How is Daisy?"

The butler replied to his query. "She is in her room, and trying to bear up as much as she can." Carson couldn't stomach telling William that his wife was somewhat brittle, and might snap at the slightest provocation. The only people she spoke to were of course, Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes, and Anna, as the upper housemaid was like an older sister to her. As far as speech was concerned, it seemed that Daisy had only exchanged monosyllables with him (of course he was wrong about this). Hopefully, Mrs. Hughes had prepared the young girl of what was to happen. The wedding forced the timid kitchen maid to grow up. Carson heard from Mrs. Hughes that Daisy was a bit reluctant to marry William as she was only fond of him. Which made Carson wonder, what was love, really? But he also remembered that Daisy and William were the best of friends. Probably the kitchen maid married the former second footman to make him happy.

Which was a form of love in its way.

"Oh, here we are. I wonder how Dad's bearing up. I did hate to leave him alone. It's...it's also why I married Daisy. So he would have another child. And he wouldn't be alone." The butler's eyes misted a little. If it weren't for tradition and stiff upper lip, he would have told the younger man sitting beside him that he was awfully fond and proud of him. Having served former master, King and country well was no mean feat. Lady Edith alighted from the car first, and walked over to William. "Just sit for a while and I'll knock on the door. Mr. Carson, will you help William walk to the house?" she asked.

"I'll be very happy to, my lady," Carson said. And he meant it.

Edith walked towards the front door of the farmhouse. She looked up and around, and she saw a large, cosy house made of brick. The door had a diamond paned window, and a quaint dog-shaped knob. The curtains were closed, but she heard voices. Probably neighbours being neighbourly and offering their sympathies, Edith thought. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. In a minute, the door opened, and she saw a woebegone Mr. Mason, who was clearly surprised to see her.

"My lady! Good evening. What—what can I do for you?" he asked Edith, who said gently, "There's someone to see you, Mr. Mason. And the person badly wants to see you."

"Is it Daisy? She's more than welcome in my home—she's all I have left to remind me of my son. Where is she?" Abner Mason didn't notice her young ladyship nodding her head at Mr. Carson, which was a cue for him to open the door and help William alight from the car. All he saw was the familiar lad with hair the colour of wheat and eyes as blue as the sea. "William?"

* * *

Back at the servants' quarters at Downton, Daisy Mason was lying in her bed. Her thoughts were racing.

_But it's not cheating. We love each other, don't we? We'd've married if I'd got through it, spent our whole lives together. Where's the dishonesty in that?_

Daisy remembered William saying that, the day before they got married. Now, lying down, she had the time to think about things. What was love, really? Lord only knew she didn't have much of it at home, back in Ripon, when she was little. She knew Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore cared deeply for her, but she didn't know if it was love. She thought she was in love with Thomas, but it took Lady Grantham's lost baby for her to realise that she wasn't. Daisy also remembered all those times when she was trying to comfort William whenever he was grousing how his father (now her father-in-law) didn't want him to go to war. She was partly in agreement with his father's reasoning. She didn't want him to go because if he did, he'll be hurt—or worse, be killed, and she would never see him again. Daisy remembered realising that she didn't to go through with that feeling.

_Do I love him?_

_I still don't know._

But Daisy also remembered many things that she did to make him smile, even during the time she was besotted with Thomas. She liked to walk with William and help him gather a huge bunch of wildflowers—he liked them better than the posh ones on display at Downton. She liked making that plum cake based from his mother's recipe (he had asked his mother to write it out for him on one of his days off) for his birthday. Daisy always was worried when William wasn't feeling well or unhappy, during the time he wasn't called up yet. And when he did—she remembered him being happy to get his call-up papers. Not to mention the bile that seemed to have risen up her throat when he handed in his notice to train in the regiment.

A knock interrupted Daisy's thoughts. It was Anna—or at least it was her voice. "Daisy, may I come in?"

"Yes please." Daisy called back. The upper housemaid entered her room once more. "I heard from Mrs. Hughes. Are you happy?" Anna asked. Daisy nodded, and smiled a little. "I'm happy. But oh, Anna. I'm confused." Anna opened the door, and upon entering, she walked to Daisy's bed and sat on it.

"Why, my poppet?"

"Do you love Mr. Bates?" Daisy's direct question didn't bother Anna, who laughed, and nodded. "How do you know you love him?" The older maid smiled rather helplessly. "It's so simple, yet so complicated at the same time. Well...you love a person when you see yourself with him in the future. You make plans, and he's always included in your plans. You get worried or sad when he's not happy or well, and you are happy for him in his successes. And you'd do everything to help him achieve whatever he wants to achieve. Why do you ask?"

"William. I'm terribly, terribly fond of William. I...don't know if I do love him."

Anna smiled at that. "Love isn't always a fuzzy, warm feeling. It's there always, even if what you're doing scares you so much you could hardly think, but it's worth it when you see him happy. It's always, always worth it. Love is putting his needs before your own. And just because you've been friends doesn't mean you don't love him. You do. Just not in a romantic way. I've seen you grow up, Daisy. And marrying him, I think, was the biggest act of love you did for him."

"I was so scared, then. But when I saw him happy, my doubts flew away."

"Then you do love him," Anna confirmed. "If you're still not sure, let me assure you that it takes time. Don't rush it. Let him know by actions. Hug him, things like that. Or kiss him. You're married; you have the right to do that." She winked at Daisy. "Well, you beat me to the altar. I thought that I'd marry before you." Daisy looked up at Anna, who she always looked up to as her older sister. "Are things going well for you and Mr. Bates?" she asked.

"Not yet. But we're getting there. Hopefully he and I would work out at something." Anna's expression turned grave. "William's so dear to me, like a little brother. Will you promise to make him happy?"

Daisy nodded. "I will," she said.

* * *

**Note: There, that's Chapter 3 for you, guys! I had to repost it since I have made some substantial changes, especially the ending, and a few minor ones. I hope that the sisterly fluff between Anna and Daisy wasn't too awkward or rushed, but if it is, please let me know! I'll only be too glad to improve the dialogue. **

**Re: the mention of Cousin Isobel—we all know in canon that it took days for her to return to England. But in this story, please permit me a bit of poetic/artistic licence. Isobel Crawley ****in this fic**** was able to come home as soon as (safe) passage was available—which was miraculously prompt, by the way. Upon her return to England, her visit to her son was of paramount importance. Isobel being Isobel couldn't stand if there are no matters resolved, so it is assumed she made her peace with Lady Grantham (Cora)—behind the scenes, that is.**

**When I re-watched s03e06, on the particular scene where Daisy visited her father-in-law, I noticed that for a while, William's army portrait zoomed in. I thought that if Mr. Mason had a copy, I could, again, for the sake of poetic licence, hoped that William had requested for another copy to give to Daisy—with a few strings pulled by his direct superior, Matthew Crawley. I am sure that as Matthew was almost in the same boat as William, he would be more sympathetic, and as it was only a minor request, it would be possible for Daisy to receive a photograph of William as well, since I think that it was pretty much standard procedure for the family/relatives of the soldier, regardless of rank, to receive a portrait of their son/father/husband—and only one copy at that. If I am wrong about this, and if some of you are experts regarding this particular topic, please let me know too!**

**In this story, we know now that William rose from the dead. Just in case you all wondered where that idea of William's "military" portrait came from. :)**


	4. Think Nothing of It

**Hi! So here's another update! To tell the truth, Chapters 1 to 3 and the first part of this Chapter has been up for a long time. I must admit, I can't help but fit in a bit of Tom and Sybil! **

* * *

No, Abner Mason _wasn't_ seeing things. His only child William was alive.

_But how did that happen?_

Hours ago, he had returned into an empty house. Mrs. Mellor, his kindly neighbour looked after the house for him for the day. When she heard that William died, she was in tears. Wryly, Abner thought whether she was crying because she was really _sad,_ or because her hopes of her daughter Jenny ever marrying William were forever dashed. Well, they actually were. All the girls in Malton had their eye on his boy—one, because William being William, was kind and had a good word for everybody, and two, the lad was passably attractive. Three, the farm was a fairly large—and _prosperous_ property—and he, Abner Mason owned it. In time, William would inherit it—regardless of his position at Lord Grantham's home. A girl marrying into the Mason farm (and family) would count herself lucky. Then again, regardless of whether his son was dead or alive, Jenny Mellor wouldn't stand a chance. William only had eyes for his wife, the former Daisy Robinson, now Daisy _Mason._

"Come in, my lord, my lady—and Mr. Carson," Abner invited the three visitors. His eyes misting, "I thought I'd never see you forever until I'm six feet under meself," he told his son.

"I'm here now, Dad." William said, rather weakly. He had a long and rather exciting day. Surprisingly, he didn't wheeze while he spoke and breathed. Before he died, he had difficulty breathing. _Well, miracles do happen, don't they_?

Lady Edith and Lord Grantham examined the house and its contents; it was the first time they had entered the home of one of their employees. But William Mason was a special case. He saved the life of his lordship's heir, and the former second footman's father observed that his lordship and his daughter were very much grateful and wanted to do everything for William. Abner Mason was touched. He heard Lady Edith graciously conversing with his neighbours, and explained all that happened, and remarking how _extraordinary_ it was; but all of them agreed that it was lovely—a lovely miracle that William was alive once more. Amused, Abner noticed that it was her young ladyship was doing all the talking, and her father murmuring his assent.

"How do you feel, my boy?" he asked.

"Strange, Dad. Strange. But I'm happy just the same. I'll still get to see you, the farm, Downton, and Daisy. How is she?" William asked.

Abner shook his head. "Lady Edith said that Daisy was quiet after and didn't speak to a soul 'cept for Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Patmore, and a maid called Anna. She's very distraught."

William nodded. He thought of his wife. He missed her already—badly. He would ask Mr. Carson permission to speak to her.

While his son was preoccupied, Abner caught his lordship's eye, and they walked to the small parlour where his wife used to have tea with her friends. Abner asked Lord Grantham to sit, and his lordship graciously accepted the offer. Lord Grantham spoke. "This is extraordinary, but no less cheering. And...I would like to do something for William."

"My lord..." Abner began, but Lord Grantham put his hand on his shoulder. "I would like to have William checked up by Dr. Clarkson. And see if further treatment is needed for him. This is because...well, I...I would discuss with Mr. Carson the possibility of a promotion for William. Before the war, Mr. Carson has seen more potential with William than with Thomas, the first footman. But since he has married Daisy, we would rework that plan. Part of that plan is to rebuild his strength. I would still have to discuss this with Mr. Crawley, since William was Mr. Crawley's batman. I would like to discuss this with you again in the future."

"But my Lord—" Abner began.

"Think nothing of it, Mr. Mason. Your son has saved my heir. He is a good lad and a good worker, and his good work should _not _go unrewarded. I feel that this is not enough. He deserves more."

"I am grateful my Lord. For your kindness to my son. William has always said that he has never known a kinder employer—then again, his job at your home was the only one he had."

"Like I said, Mr. Mason, we are the ones who are grateful. What is important is that William gets his strength back. I would like to quote Mr. Carson and say that the lad has potential, and has a bright future for him indeed."

"Thank you, my lord."Abner Mason said. He was touched to hear that William was well-regarded in his former employer's home and that he would have a job for life! Not that it was the important thing, but still...he was happy. And the most important thing? He wouldn't be alone—his family would grow. He would allow his son and his daughter-in-law to work if that was what they wanted. The world was changing; the war had seen to that. And probably someday, he'd have grandchildren. _Ah, Abner. One thing at a time. Don't count your chickens before they're hatched._

* * *

News, however, travelled more slowly at the Downton Cottage Hospital. Ladies Sybil and Mary Crawley delivered the sad news to Matthew Crawley, their cousin, and William's direct superior in the regiment.

"He's gone, isn't he?" Matthew Crawley said hollowly. Mary nodded, tears slowly trickling down her cheeks. When Anna delivered the news to her, she was dry-eyed. But later on, Mary felt a prickling in her eyes. "I never knew I'd feel so much about it," she admitted. "He was a good lad. Everybody liked him. You see, I once spoke to him. William originally wanted to work as a groom. But his mother had grander ideas for him. She wanted him to be a butler someday. Out of love for his mother, William heeded her and applied for the position of second footman instead. There are not many sons who would do that for their mothers." Mary began to wipe her eyes with the handkerchief she had kept in her apron pocket.

"That's true," Lady Sybil agreed. "I was also informed that before he died, William married Daisy—you remember her of course, Matthew—the shy kitchen maid. She's a very sweet girl—I've had an opportunity to get to know her more while learning a few things about working in the kitchen," she finished.

"Yes, I do," said Matthew. "The first time I saw her, I thought that she was a delicate slip of a girl. But given the scope of her tasks, she must be very strong. William spoke of nothing else." He grinned. "The lad never smokes, but the cigarettes he gets, he barters them for extra paper or pencils. William could write. And he writes to her—sheets and sheets. If it's not her he's writing to, it would be his father. He told me that his mother was a schoolteacher before she married his father." Matthew sighed. "I saw him as a younger brother, not as a subordinate. He was just like a brother to me. It's sad to see what the war does to the young."

"You're hardly old yourself," Mary contradicted gently.

"William is only twenty three," Matthew replied sadly.

Out across the hall, the phone rang. As the nurses were busy with the patients, Sybil ran to get it. She answered the call.

"Hello, Downton hospital—Edith?"

"Sybil?"

"Yes."

"Sybil, is Dr. Clarkson there? Papa wants him to come."

"Is Mr. Carson ill again, Edith? I shall ask Branson to drive me home. Dr. Clarkson is out at Farley Hall. He won't be back till the start of the evening shift."

"Oh, Sybil, this is extraordinary news. _William is alive._"

"Edith," Sybil protested. The lad just died, and people are making jokes at his expense. What on earth is the world coming to? "Now isn't the time for jokes," she said sadly.

"Sybil dear, I'm not joking."

Sybil felt her knees go weak. "Are you serious—_he is alive?_ How? What—oh, well then, I'll just go home. My shift is going to end anyhow, and I'll take on the evening shift at home. I see—I understand. We'll talk later when I get home. See you. I'll have to say goodbye to Mary and Matthew first. Bye." Sybil put the phone back on the receiver, and her eyes fell on the calendar. 26 July, 1918. Has the war been that long—has she been a VAD that long? _Almost two years. _The clock struck four in the afternoon, thereby concluding her day shift. She would continue it at home, as Downton had become a convalescent home. _Might as well finish my report there_, she thought.

Sybil went back to her sister and cousin. "Mary, my shift has ended. Edith rang up to say that Papa needs me to see to something. Don't go—I'll send Branson back to you. I'll explain to you later when you get home. Matthew, don't stir. I'll see you the day after tomorrow. Goodbye."

* * *

Tom Branson was surprised to see Sybil Crawley. Belatedly, he remembered that her day shift would end at four in the afternoon. "Milady," he began. He noticed that Sybil's face was rather flushed and excited, and couldn't wait to go home. "Tom, please." Sybil sighed. Then she looked up at him. "Have you ever been in contact with people who died and lived again?"

He started the ignition, and pretty soon, they were away from the hospital. "Are you talking about Jesus or Lazarus here?" It was one of the best things about their friendship—it was easy for them to talk about a variety of things. But as time went on, his feelings started to turn into love—Tom knew she felt that way, but he knew she wasn't at liberty to talk about it—or she didn't realise it yet. He raised his eyebrow at her, waiting for her to reply.

"No," Sybil said.

"We seem to be talking in circles here," was Tom's rather arid reply.

"William's alive," Sybil blurted out.

"God almighty," Tom yelped as he expertly managed to avoid hitting the tree on their way home. He took deep breaths, and feeling himself calm down, he asked, "How and when?" Sybil shook her head. "I haven't gathered the full details yet—I'll hear them from Edith later on. The urgency of her voice prompted me to ask for them when I arrive home."

"I understand. I can only imagine what it must be like at Downton right now," Tom said dryly.

"Oh, I agree," Sybil's reply was just as dry.


	5. The Rising of the Fallen

Sybil Cora Crawley arrived home to a busy household—as busy it could be since 1916. She scanned the sea of officers and nurses for her older sister Edith. She was, in so many ways, feeling all levels of emptiness. During her ride home, she wished she was just an ordinary girl, an ordinary VAD auxiliary nurse. Then when the war was over, she could be with Tom Branson. She was already deeply in love with him, far more than she could ever have the strength to admit. Sybil sighed. She knew she had so much to be grateful, but for a moment, she envied William and Daisy. Deathbed wedding or no, they were able to wed, without worry of class disparities.

A vice-like grip on her wrist interrupted her thoughts and brought her back to the present. It was her older sister Edith, leading her down to the south gallery, where William previously laid injured. This time, it was different. There was no injury to speak of. At least, none that they knew of yet.

"That hurt," Sybil told her sister as she was trying to break free of her grip. Edith grinned sheepishly at her younger sister. "I just had to make sure that I wouldn't lose you in a sea of patients and nurses. Here, now. We can talk in peace." The two young ladies huddled themselves in a corner. "So what exactly happened to William?" asked Sybil.

Edith looked dazedly at her sister. "You know it does feel _unreal—_but it has happened. Well, as we were settling William back into the room at the south gallery, he told me that at first, he felt like he was being taken into a dark, dark tunnel. Then, a flash of light, a vision came to him, telling him that he couldn't enter the gates. He couldn't see the vision clearly, but it said that he should go back to earth, that he would be happy with Daisy. The next thing William knew was that he was woken into consciousness in the Grassby's ambulance van, caused by a jolt in Malvern Road."

Sybil tried to hide a smile. "I can imagine the shock of those men. Especially seeing William irate. That boy is always smiling." Edith nodded in agreement. "Would you like to see him?" she asked. Sybil smiled. "I'd love to. Has anyone written Gwen?" Edith shook her head. "No, not yet. But if you want to, do so." Edith recalled that her younger sister had been friendly with one of the maids who had left Downton to seek greener pastures. "You've always been friendly with her. Go right in. I'll cover for you, and when you're done, let me know. And you need to rest. I'll ask Mrs. Patmore to send someone up with a tray. You have a night shift, and I think you should squeeze in a bit of time for a nap."

"Thank you Edith. I'll look for you in the mess hall."

* * *

Sybil entered the bedroom, and saw a pale but steadily breathing William. "Hello," Sybil said. William looked up in surprise. "My—my lady. Good—good afternoon. I thought it was Lady Edith." Sybil smiled. "Oh, William. I'm covering for Edith for just this moment. You've forgotten it's Nurse Crawley now. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, my lady. I don't think I could ever get used to calling you Nurse Crawley. Nor Florence Nightingale neither."

Sybil smiled at that. "Papa said that Dr—oh, Major Clarkson needs to take a look at you. Well, at least that's what Edith tells me. Are you breathing normally?" William nodded. "Yes my lady."

For William, no one else was as beautiful in his eyes as Daisy. Well, with the exception of Lady Sybil. And he quite understood why Mr. Branson was clean gone on her. And she was nice, very nice too. "I imagine Daisy would be very happy to see you," Sybil beamed at William. "I don't need to tell you how." William nodded, and shyly said, "I can't wait to see her." Sybil nodded, and added, "Edith's been telling me that the poor, sweet girl was in pieces when you—_died._ And then—it's really extraordinary. Major Clarkson's out, but I left a note for him on his desk. Make yourself as comfortable as possible until he comes, won't you? Tell me what you like to read so I'll ask Edith to bring them to you when she comes back here."

"I've got a few books from my room at home. Lady Edith drove me over at the farm to see my Dad. But thank you, my lady. It's kind of you to see me."

"Think nothing of it, William. Make yourself comfortable."

Beaming, Sybil went out of the room. On her way out, she saw Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, and her parents were on their way to visit William. Sybil hoped that Matthew would be better soon. Through Branson, she had sent a note to her sister and cousin about the news.

_Mary, _

_Am here at home now. The reason why E had asked me to come home is that William is alive and well. A bit weak, but so far, nothing has been out of place. In case that you think I am pulling your leg—I am not. William Mason had risen from the dead, so to speak. E has narrated to me the events as William had told her, Papa and Mr. Carson. Please show this note to Major Clarkson, and tell him to ring Papa as soon as he arrives from Farley Hall. I shall explain in full detail when you arrive home. I will need rest to fortify myself for my night shift, but feel free to knock on my door. Much love, S._

* * *

Sure enough, the missive made its way to Mary Josephine Crawley's hands, delivered by Tom Branson, no less.

"Good God," Mary gasped.

"Mary, what is it?" Matthew asked, concerned. To answer his query, Mary pushed Sybil's note into her cousin's hand. Matthew read it over and over again. "Well, it is extraordinary indeed. Has Major Clarkson been to see him?" Mary shook her head. "Not yet," she said. "But Sybil left a note on his desk, and I'm to show this note to him. If he's sceptical, I'll shove this note at him."

"Very testy, aren't you, Mary."

Mary gave out a rather defeated sigh. Matthew knew her only too well. "I'm not going to say more, because it's quite a vicious chain." Mary said rather irritably. "I know," Matthew shrugged. "My mother might have a hand in it, so I do have a feeling I know what you're about to say." Mary's eyes widened, but she was prevented from further speech as Matthew held up a hand. "You know what Mother is like," he said dryly. Defeated, Mary only nodded. Matthew smiled. "William's bound to be a bit weak and needs to get his strength back. I have a plan. He'll be my valet, so as not to make things difficult for Molesley."

"Won't his nose be put out of joint?"

"I have something up my sleeve."

"I hope it's a good plan." Mary said, smiling.

"You bet it is, milady." Matthew was grinning impishly. He realised that he missed talking to Mary in this manner. With a heavy heart, he had sent Lavinia away, telling her she should find someone else, and have a good life with someone. Heartbroken, Lavinia left for the train station this morning after seeing him at the hospital for the last time.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Matthew, Lavinia saw Mary in the hallway, carrying a tray. She asked Mary to promise her that she would take care of Matthew. "Not that you wouldn't," the red-headed young woman told Mary, "but I suppose it's for the best. It's not in me to be the Queen of the County—I'm only a little person. I wish you all the best, Mary. You and Matthew—you both look so natural together."

"Lavinia—"

"No, Mary. Whenever I watch the two of you converse, I always thought how right, how perfect you both look together. And I...well, never mind. Will we remain friends?" Lavinia asked.

Mary felt desperately sad for Lavinia. Both of them loved Matthew so much. And in a strange way, she thought that Lavinia would be good for Matthew, since she was as gentle as he is. She nodded. "It's funny...no, not funny. It's ironic that you should be asking that. It should be me. But yes, we can be friends." The two women kissed each other's cheeks. "You'll always be welcome at Downton, Lavinia."

Lavinia smiled sadly. Then she gripped Mary's hand. "Whatever hold Richard Carlisle has on you, don't let it get to you. Don't do the same thing as I did. Break free of him, Mary. He's not good for you, he won't make you happy. You're brave and strong—not like me. You can weather through anything. You and Matthew—be happy, with my love. Take care of yourself. And of Matthew."

"I will," Mary promised.

After pressing one last kiss on Mary's cheek, Lavinia left.

* * *

Lady Grantham and Mrs. Hughes made a fuss over William in his room, with Lord Grantham and Mr. Carson watching rather helplessly.

"My dear boy, don't ever hesitate to let us know what you need. We are so glad that you are alive and well—and that Daisy wouldn't be alone. She should be here too. Where's the poor little darling? She must be in pieces—and I could imagine why." Lady Grantham beamed on William as she held his hand.

"I'll send her up as soon I can," promised Elsie. Hughes. She was so happy that William was alive. Was this a sign for Daisy to be able to show William how much she loved him? Miracles happen, she thought, and who knew? The girl might have reached an epiphany, and realise that she loved her husband after all. The problem with Daisy was that she was thinking too much for her own good. Far too much, actually, but it was proof that the girl was far from simple-minded, as Miss O' Brien and Thomas made her out to be. It was astounding that the Daisy had kept her innocence, sweetness and childlike wonder intact when her earlier circumstances should have made her bitter, hard and distrustful.

Daisy was left at the doorstep of Downton Abbey's kitchen one cold, rainy autumn night in 1905. She was seven years old then—cold, thin, drenched wet with rain. A note was in her hand, telling her that she was one more mouth to feed and her family couldn't afford to keep her. (Which made Elsie very angry inside.) After a fruitless search of her origins and family, Lord Grantham allowed Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore to be her guardians. And hadn't she filled out so well, and she looked considerably pretty, actually. Elsie smiled. The lassie was a sweet girl too, and very kind. As well, a good worker. Elsie made a mental note to speak to her best friend, Beryl Patmore, about Daisy.

Mr. Carson murmured something about ringing the gong, and reluctantly, Lady Grantham and Elsie left William, Elsie promising to send Daisy to see him before bedtime. She told William she had given Daisy a week's leave of sorts in order for her to spend time with him.

_God, I hope the girl proves to be tractable this evening._

* * *

Strangely, after that talk with Anna, Daisy found herself with some newly acquired confidence. She might be only fond of him—but she would show him how much.

_Don't be silly, little girl,_ a voice inside her said. _You love your husband more than you care to admit._

But she wasn't a little girl anymore, Daisy thought. She turned twenty earlier that year. _Well, act your age then,_ the little voice nagged. "I am going to," she told her reflection on the mirror that stood on the clothes bureau in her room. As proof, Daisy had made an effort to look good. She had brushed her hair till it shone, and pinned it up into a nicer looking bun (far more different from her usual). This evening, Daisy wore her new uniform—a purple-grey wool dress with a large cream-coloured collar and three-quarter length sleeves with cuffs. The new dress had a slightly fuller skirt that seemed to be fuller if an apron was worn over it.

Daisy pinched her cheeks to make it look she was flushing. Her eyes shone, but it was probably because of her new dress. The purple-gray shade seemed to have brought out the best lights in her blue-grey eyes. For the final touch, she opened the bureau drawer to get a small bottle of cologne Mr. Bates had given her and Anna for Christmas in 1917. It was the size of her palm, and smelled like oranges, mint and lavender. Anna's cologne smelled like roses, fresh spring flowers, and newly washed and ironed clothes. Daisy dabbed a bit of it behind her ears, her wrists and her neck. There, she was ready. She looked at the mirror. As a little girl, Daisy dreamed of looking as pretty as Lady Sybil—the prettiest and kindest of all Lord Grantham's daughters. She never considered herself pretty, but this evening, she felt she was.

* * *

Elsie Hughes said a prayer as she went to Daisy's room. She hoped that she wouldn't have a hard time with the girl this evening; she could be as obstinate as a mule—even if mules didn't exist in the whole of Great Britain. She knocked on Daisy's door. "Daisy, may I come in?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes, please do!"

Were her ears mistaken? Or did Daisy's voice sound a bit _happier?_

Elsie opened the door, and what she saw made her pleasantly surprised. Gone was the young girl. In her place was a young woman; with shining chestnut hair done nicely—a simple bun still, but it had quite a grown-up air about Daisy. Daisy's cheeks were flushed; her eyes nearly matched the colour of her dress. And she was smiling! Her dimples appeared, like little dents in cream. It must be admitted that Elsie's eyes misted a little. Some butterfly of miracle must have landed on Daisy's heart, and prompted her to see William. _So you were needlessly worried after all, Elsie Hughes. Admit it; you were glad to be proved wrong._

Unable to keep the delight out of her voice, Elsie exclaimed, "Why Daisy, you look very pretty! Would you like to see William?" Daisy nodded delightedly. "Yes, Mrs. Hughes. I...I'd like to see my husband, please." Two bright spots of colour appeared on Daisy's cheeks, and made her look even prettier. _No wonder why William was very much taken with her_, Elsie thought._ And he will be even more taken with her this evening. Miracles do happen after all. God forgive me for being such a doubting Thomas._ "Well, come along with me, lassie. He's been asking for you all evening! He'll be very pleased to see you."

* * *

Richard Clarkson was in a state, yes he was. It couldn't be true—young Mason was alive. Not that he wanted the lad to remain dead, but what if he finds out that he had not been allowed to be in the hospital before he died? What would he say? Furthermore, how did that happen? He now had ample reason to go to Downton—he wanted to see for himself. Richard sighed. The ways of the Lord couldn't be measured. Taking his medical bag, he went to his car once more, and drove to Downton.

Isobel Crawley, Lord Grantham, Carson and Lady Mary (who had just arrived) all but cornered him to find out if anything needed to be done for William. Richard prescribed some medication and gave specific instructions to Sybil and Edith regarding its administration. "I will also recommend my nephew. He is a surgeon in the RAMC, but sadly for him, he has been invalided home. Since I am always going on my rounds in the nearby homes and hospitals, a presiding physician is required here in case of emergency; he has been recommended to be one here. Not that I have anything to do with his appointment," Richard gave disclaimer. "But his expertise involves diseases of the lung—accidental or congenital. He will give the best medical care possible."

"It would be very convenient, then," Isobel said. She was glad that William Mason was alive. Mary informed her as she arrived to Downton for dinner. Isobel liked the tall former footman with straw-coloured hair and blue eyes. She didn't want to admit she felt a little bad over his passing—but in some strange way, it was a blessing in disguise. Because if he hadn't gone—Matthew would have his name written on a cross on a field in France, for sure, and the Grantham line would die out. Not that the continuity of the line gave her much concern, but she had grown fond of her husband's cousin—and his family. She had also suspected that things are progressing with Matthew and Mary again; as well, she had heard that the engagement between her son and Lavinia Swire had been broken. Dare she hope? In a rather roundabout way, Isobel had come to like Mary. People often told her that the eldest Crawley daughter was a cold, beautiful statue. But she knew better. She had seen it the way she had nursed Matthew.

Cousin Robert graciously invited Major Clarkson for dinner, and the doctor accepted the invitation with equal amount of grace. He intended to discuss the treatment that William would have to undergo to Sybil, herself and Edith. "What is the name of your nephew?" asked Isobel.

Richard smiled. "Oh, Philip Dunbar. A quiet, sensible lad. He'll work closely with Lady Edith as she is the one with the primary responsibility of looking after William. He's quite amiable when he's out of his moody spells—they're quite frequent to be sure. But she'll like him once she gets used to him." Isobel thought of Edith. The girl had quite lost her languid air that was only a veneer of her boredom. Now, Edith was bursting with energy, finding ways to help entertain the soldiers or making them comfortable. Isobel also observed that Edith was trying to find ways to improve her relationship with Mary. She knew that there was animosity between the two girls. Lately, she observed that the animosity was slowly dissipating.

"—next Wednesday..."

Isobel lost her current train of thought. "I'm sorry, Major Clarkson. When are we to expect Dr. Dunbar?"

"Wednesday. Next week. He's waiting for his clearance. Don't worry. I'll drive over with him, since I'll need to orient him, at any rate."

"Very well, then." Isobel smiled.

* * *

William looked up from the book he was reading when he heard a knock from the door. "William?" he heard Mrs. Hughes say.

"Come in, Mrs. Hughes," William replied. In a dramatic flourish, Mrs. Hughes led Daisy in. "Someone to see you!" she said joyfully.

"Daisy?" William knew that he had only eyes for Daisy.

"William?" was Daisy's shy response. In a strange way, she felt herself falling for William.

_Wasn't it strange? Falling in love with your husband when you're supposed to love him in the first place?_

* * *

**This, I think, is the longest chapter I've ever posted for this fic! I had fun writing this, actually. I can't help but squeeze in that Matthew-Mary-Lavinia triangle, and I felt sorry for Lavinia here. But this only means a better and a new start for both M/M. And a new major character is arriving next chapter! What is in store for Edith and the new doctor to be assigned to Downton? And what resolution will William and Daisy have in the bedroom at the south gallery? Minor fluff where they are concerned next chapter!**


	6. Very Much Worth It

Daisy was suddenly feeling shy, forgetting why she came to see her not-dead-at-all husband. Then she smiled and tried to joke, "They nearly had you boxed up and buried." William saw the joke, and grinned. "Well, they didn't. Pinch me, I am your dream come true." Daisy giggled at this. William patted the empty side of his bed. She remembered that night in the kitchen too.

_William, I don't believe it!_

_Pinch me, I am your dream come true._

_You're like a real soldier._

_I am a real soldier, thank you very much. Now come and give me a kiss._

Happily, Daisy took off her shoes, climbed in the bed and sat under the covers. Then she pinched him. _Oh, he was real. Her best friend in the whole world was alive. And he was her husband too._ She didn't know why she was acting like this—but for her, it suddenly felt real, it felt _natural._ Maybe it was because of Anna telling her what she didn't know before. _That she loved him._ Not in that goosy, silly, moony way that she thought was love with Thomas, but it made her happy. Deep down in the gut happy—she had family. She married a nice boy, and she had a father-in-law who cared a lot about her because his son did—but nevertheless, he cared about her too like she was his own.

"Oh, you're real." Daisy said, smiling.

"So I am," William said.

"How...how did you come back alive?" his wife wanted to know.

William thought hard. "I don't really know...or understand. When I died, it like I was travelling in a dark tunnel...much like the passageways in the trenches—but much, much darker. Then not long after, I saw a bright light. It was a lovely place. Flowers of all kinds, and there were golden gates. Later, a blinding light—a vision—a shapely cloud told me that I should go home, that I would be happy with you, and I can't get into his gates for a long, long time."

"We'll be happy," Daisy affirmed. "Terribly, terribly happy. I'm happy you're alive. I'm happy you're here."

_I am happy that you're alive, and that I realised that I love you. And it's not too late to show you._

"Well," said William with a shy smile, "It seems that I made it after all." Daisy smiled at this, remembering what he said the day before they got married. Tears prickled in her eyes, but she blinked hard and she willed it away. "Yes, you did," she whispered. "I'm glad you did. When you died—th' first thing I thought was that I'd never see your smile again. And that we'd never be able to talk in the servants' hall like we used to after dinner." William suddenly remembered that feeling of happiness while talking to Daisy at that time—when he wasn't playing the piano or doing the extra work piled on him since Thomas left to serve in the medical corps. He became first and second footman at the time, and valet for two weeks since Mr. Bates went to London for his own mother's funeral. William also remembered with a slight tinge of embarrassment that he hadn't been easy to talk to for the first two years of the war.

"I weren't the easiest person to talk to since the war started," William said. It was his way of apologising. But Daisy took his large paw of a hand in her small, delicate hands. They were usually red and chapped and dry due to work, but Lady Sybil had once given Daisy a pot of hand cream to use every night as a sort of thank you gift (and had been giving her ever since), so they were less dry and chapped, and gradually, stopped being so.

"I weren't a good friend to you neither when I were taken with...Thomas. I still feel bad about it."

"Oh Daisy. That was a long time ago. I've put it out of my mind ever since."

"I still feel bad about it when I think of it."

"Don't think about it now. I've forgotten it, and so should you."

"All right," Daisy said, and she put her head on William's shoulder. "I will. Are you tired?" she asked her husband. "A bit," he admitted. "But coming back from the dead's worth it if I got to hold your hand."

"You're holding it now," Daisy said. She kissed William on the forehead, and sang him a lullaby to help him wind down for the night.

* * *

Outside the bedroom, Ladies Edith and Mary Crawley were talking. "Is William still awake? I would like to see him." Mary asked her younger sister. "I suppose so. Daisy's in there now. Mrs. Hughes gave her some sort of leave so she could spend time with William," Edith explained. "How's Matthew?" she asked. "A little better," Mary replied. "How did he come back to life?" she asked.

Edith smiled ruefully. "You know, Mary, I couldn't stop saying how extraordinary this is—because well, it _is._ Anyway, William told us while were settling in back here that he felt like he was being sucked into a dark, dark tunnel. Later on, he came out into the light, and he saw a cloud-like vision, and that vision told him to come back to earth. Oh, Mary, it would be better for you to hear it from William himself."

Mary nodded. "You're right," she said smiling a little. She and Edith were about to walk into the bedroom when they heard someone singing. It was Daisy. They had never heard her sing before, and her sweet, clear voice was heard outside the bedroom door.

"_...lavender's green, dilly dilly, lavender's blue. If you love me, dilly dilly, I will love you..._"

Mary and Edith looked at each other. "Well, that was sweet of Daisy," Mary said, trying to swallow a lump in her throat—she was surprised that it was there. "She is a sweet girl," Edith said quietly. Her older sister looked at her in surprise. Edith shrugged. "I'm not the person I was then. That Edith you knew left in 1916." Mary nodded. She understood. Ever since she had started to drive for the farmer, and when the convalescent home was established in 1916, Edith was a marvellous bundle of energy. Her grudging respect for her younger sister turned into real respect after General Strutt had toasted Edith's efforts in the convalescent home, even though she was loath to admit it. Mary herself had helped out, but not with the same burst of energy and passion as her sisters. The praise showered Edith after that toast had motivated her to be more helpful and active. Truth be told, it put a sparkle into her otherwise dull brown eyes.

_And what are you doing, Mary?_ _Nursing Matthew couldn't exactly count as war work, couldn't it?_

Mary was hit with a realisation. While she was hardly charitable and kind to Edith growing up, she had an odd sense that whatever animosity they had, she should grow up and make some kind of truce. Edith had her work in the convalescent home, and she still had to nurse William on top of all this. She would be run down.

"I'll tell you what," Mary said. "Go and rest tonight. I'll cover for you. Just tell me what I'm supposed to do and you can go." Edith's eyes were round, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. To her surprise, her older sister smiled a small smile. "You heard me. Go and say yes before I change my mind."

"I'll take advantage of it," Edith said grinning. Their conversation was interrupted for the meanwhile by Daisy, who looked clearly happy, but embarrassed when she saw the young ladies of the house. "Oh, my lady—I am so sorry to have stayed so long. But William is feeling so much better. Goo-goodnight, my lady."

Mary smiled at the young newlywed. "Nonsense, Daisy. It's your right to spend time with your husband. Now, go before Mrs. Patmore goes on the warpath."

* * *

_Almost a week later_

_July 31__st__ 1918_

Edith's hands dug into the pockets of her apron. Dr., or rather, Captain Philip Dunbar was getting under her skin—in a bad way. _And it was only his first day here!_ The young Scottish doctor, she found out, as was the same age as Cousin Matthew. So, not so young after all. After he had been oriented by his uncle Major Clarkson, he had set about making changes—_immediate ones—_into the bedroom where William was staying in for the meanwhile. While she grudgingly agreed with him that fresh air was good for William's lungs, flinging open the window would cause Mr. Carson a fit of apoplexy. Cutting out the apoplexy part, she told him it wasn't advisable.

Captain Dunbar looked at Edith as though she had gone mad. "Milady," he said, with a hint of a sneer in his voice, "perhaps that if you had been more stringent in your care, the lad over there would not have died in the first place."

_Rip, rip._ Edith felt the stitches in one of her apron pockets slowly give way, due to her hands digging excessively to put a proper rein on her outrage. _Was I that angry?_ _Perhaps, I was. _ Before she knew it, Edith's hold on the finest fibre of her patience was gone. "Stringent, Captain Dunbar? Closed windows or open, William only had a few days to live then because his lungs were severely damaged! Whether or not they were opened, it couldn't have repaired his lungs! What do you think of us, murderers?" The doctor stared at Edith, as though surprised. _Good,_ she thought. _That must have shaken him, I hope_.

Philip Dunbar was astonished at the second Crawley daughter. He had heard from his uncle, Major Richard Clarkson that Lord Grantham had three daughters. Quite attractive, he thought, but then, he hadn't come to Downton Abbey to flirt, but to work. He hadn't met the eldest, who had clearly left the house early to nurse a cousin, who was said to be a former sweetheart of sorts. The youngest, a VAD, was a pretty—no, gorgeous girl. However, the middle daughter was just as clearly fascinating. So she wasn't one to just give medicine, sit, smile, and read magazines while the patient was sleeping. Lady Edith Crawley knew her patient's history. She wasn't pretty as her younger sister, but with a more cheerful expression, she could turn heads.

His uncle also told him that William Mason, the patient, was a former footman of the family, the other one being Acting Sergeant Barrow. He became the soldier servant of his lordship's heir, and it was said that the young man in the bed risked his life to save that of the heir's. So that was why they took care of him as though he was some minor princeling. The lady in question interrupted his thoughts. "We would have wanted to have William brought to Downton hospital, but it was for officers only," she added, with a hint of outrage in her voice. "So we all decided to take him from Leeds and nurse him here at Downton. And we would all have gladly nursed him. And now that he's back from the dead, we're only too happy to do it for him again. For your information," Edith said, with a haughty lift to her chin—she took a leaf from her elder sister's book—"for your information, Captain Dunbar, we treat our household staff like family."

Both of them did not notice that William Mason was already awake and was a curious audience of their spat. The clearing of his throat brought them into attention. "My lady," William asked shyly, "may I please see Daisy?" The doctor noticed that the young ladyship's face quickly softened as she attended to the patient once more. "Oh, you're awake. I apologise that it escaped my notice." Edith smiled at William. "Of course, you may. In fact, I heard from Mrs. Hughes that she had given Daisy a leave of sorts so she could spend time with you. She'll be the one to bring up your breakfast."

"Who's Daisy?" Philip asked as they left the room, his curiosity piqued. The worst of her impatience over, Edith smiled as she explained, "Oh...his wife, our kitchen maid. You see, my grandmother arranged for the vicar to marry them both before he died. William was head over heels in love with her, and wanted her to be looked after—his father is still alive and has a large farm over at Malton. But William is his only child—part of the reason why William married her is for Mr. Mason not to be alone."

Presently, a clatter of utensils and a heavy treading of shoes were heard in the hallway, which indirectly informed Edith and Captain Dunbar the impending arrival of Daisy Mason. It was indeed her, and her curiosity gave way to shyness as she approached them. "Good morning my lady, good morning, sir—I—I have come to bring William his breakfast. Mr. Carson has asked me to tell you that breakfast is ready downstairs and Captain Dunbar is invited to sit with the family. Major Clarkson is already there."

Philip observed that Edith Crawley smiled at the kitchen maid as though she was an equal. "Daisy, good morning. This is Captain Philip Dunbar. He is to oversee things here in the convalescent home as well as to check on William. Do go in and see him. He has been waiting for you and Captain Dunbar and I will be going down presently." To Philip, Edith said, "Captain Dunbar, this is Mrs. William Mason. But we call her Daisy here. Come, they are eating breakfast in the dining room now."

_She exudes remarkable poise,_ Philip mused. Apart from the brief display of temper, her young ladyship indeed treated the household staff like family, and seemed amiable enough. He owed her an apology, Philip thought. _Reverse snobbery at its finest. _Although his parents had considerable means to send him to study medicine at Oxford, he wasn't completely enamoured with the upper crust of society. People like Lady Edith and her family.

* * *

The breakfast on William's tray looked appetising enough—at least, for him. A medium sized bowl had porridge (with swirls of treacle on it), a saucer contained a soft-boiled egg, two pieces of buttered toast and two sausages. There was also a small bowl of stewed apple and a mug of tea (William noticed that it was _his_ mug-he wasn't to know it, but Mr. Carson refused to have it thrown out. "_If you don't want it, let me keep it. I'll give it to his widow."_) with milk and sugar. "Everyone from the servants' hall sent their love," Daisy said as she set the tray on the bedside table. She was about to feed him herself when he gently declined her offer and began to dip the spoon into the porridge. "Even Thomas and O' Brien?" he asked dryly. Daisy nodded. "That's funny," said William. "Funny like strange." Daisy smiled at William. "I know. How are you this morning?"

William smiled adorably at his wife. "Better now that you're here."

Daisy blushed. "I'll be going out. With Anna to Ripon. She wanted to buy something to fix Lady Mary's dress, and it's her day off. But we'll go in the afternoon. Do you mind?" she asked. Daisy actually wanted to stay at home, but she also wanted to buy wool to knit a scarf for William to wear on Christmas. If she didn't go with Anna today, she might not get another chance. And she wanted to get something for Mrs. Patmore as well as Anna, Mrs. Hughes, and Mr. Bates. She might get some pen wipers for Mr. Carson while she was there.

Daisy felt William's hand touch hers. "I won't mind. As long as you come back," he said smiling. It was the last day of Daisy's leave, so they both wanted to make the most out of it. So they spent the day looking at picture books and magazines that Lady Mary left the night before for William. When the books and magazines no longer captured their interest, they sat on the window seat and talked.

"What do you plan to do when you get better?" Daisy asked William who looked dreamily outside. He snapped back to earth in a moment, and then answered, "I don't know. Don't s'pose I can still work as footman as carrying luggage is quite heavy work. Don't know if my lungs can take it." He added rather dolefully, "I'll go back to the farm, I s'pose. Fresh air would be best. And I can help with th' horses again. Would you mind staying on here without me?" he asked.

Daisy shook her head. "I don't know if Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes will let me stay. We're married. But I can help out with the farm, if you'll teach me what to do. I think that would be nice," she finished, blushing. "Yes, I think it would," William agreed. "But you wait for Mrs. Hughes' word. Mrs. Patmore might fight for you to stay on."

"All right, then." Daisy smiled and took William's hand.

* * *

**So that's the sixth instalment! Hope that it didn't sound too rushed. And sorry that it came in too late. William and Daisy mini-fluff and a truce of sorts where Mary and Edith are concerned. In my dream world, they'll be closer. ;) **

**Speaking of Edith, a sneak peek of Major Clarkson's nephew who would take her on a roller coaster for the duration of the story! I haven't really decided yet as to how Captain Dunbar might look, but I sort of based his personality on Thomas Gillan from BBC's _The Crimson Field_-the kind of guy who couldn't stand any nonsense-a bit of a spoiler-as the story progresses, he and his uncle do not see eye to eye on some occasions! **

**Please let me know what you think! **


	7. A Missive, A Plan, and a Loan

_One month later_

_The Downton Abbey Servants' Hall_

"So what are we going to do about William and Daisy?" asked Charles Carson, the butler. With him was Mrs. Hughes the housekeeper, Mrs. Patmore the cook, Anna as the head housemaid, and Mr. Bates, his lordship's valet. They were all sitting in front of the table, eating the small feast prepared by Mrs. Patmore for elevenses. Also present was Mr. Molesley, who brought the letters from Matthew Crawley, one of which was to be delivered to William, the other, to Lord Grantham. At the risk of earning Mr. Carson's ire, Molesley ventured, "I...I suggest that you read the letter, Mr. Carson. Mr. Crawley has made a request to you and his lordship regarding William. Frankly, I don't mind my tasks being halved." At the Crawley House's butler's suggestion, Mr. Carson opened the letter from Matthew Crawley.

_Dear Mr. Carson,_

_I hope that this letter finds you in good spirits. _

_Since we are both men who are not known to mince our words, I am writing you today because I would like to make a request to you in connection to William Mason. I am aware that you don't believe (and so does ages old tradition) that servants who are married should remain working at the Abbey, but at the time that William married Daisy, we did not know what would happen next. Is there no way to keep them both working at the Abbey if and when they still desire to? They are still young and still full of potential. Stripping them of such seems to be a poor return for their dedication to their work._

_In the same vein, I have proposed to Lord Grantham that I would like to have William Mason as my valet. Mr. Molesley wholeheartedly agrees to the plan. This is because I intend to ask Lady Mary to be my wife. She says that she would want to tie herself to me—on any terms. I planned to set this into stone once the war ends. Would it be too forward to ask you that William would be allowed to take further training under the capable hands of Mr. Bates? This, I am sure, would help him greatly. _

_Hoping for the kind consideration you would give this matter._

_Yours,_

_Matthew Reginald Crawley._

"Well, as I live and breathe!" Mr. Carson said in surprise. He hadn't expected this. He didn't see it coming.

"Times are changing, Mr. Carson. The war has already seen to that," Mrs. Hughes said. "Surely you see this as a special case," she entreated.

"But I wanted to take him to take over as butler someday," Mr. Carson went on, his lip thrust forward, like a pouting child's. If it wouldn't risk the butler's ire, Elsie Hughes thought, she would have teased him about it. And heavens, Mr. Crawley asking Lady Mary to be his wife! Perhaps he would be the making of her. But wasn't she engaged to that horrid newspaper man? The maids didn't like him. He ordered them about like he owned the Abbey. Elsie was not overly fond of Lord Grantham's eldest daughter, but she could see that whenever Lady Mary was with him, she looked like a woman growing old before her time. But why did she want to marry him if she was miserable?

_Or is there more to it than meets the eye?_

"Just think of it as a detour," Mr. Bates suggested. "If Lady Mary agrees to marry Mr. Crawley, chances are that they would reside in Downton until they can find a proper home for them both."

Charles Carson considered this.

"Besides, I'm sure you'll agree that William won't function well as a proper butler if his skills are limited," added Anna.

"And I don't want Daisy to leave me just yet!" Mrs. Patmore burst into tears. The cook was silent the whole time; the rest of the senior and middle staff was surprised at the cook's outburst. "I've never had a daughter, and likely I never will. She's the closest thing to one...for me."

"Lord Awliscombe's butler and cook are married to each other," Mr. Bates contributed. "It is a rare case, but it can be a sort of precedent," he finished. "After all, Mrs. Patmore has provided Daisy ample training to rise above the ranks someday."

"That's true. And I shall continue until I retire." Mrs. Patmore said, dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes.

"Well now, you have a son-in-law of sorts," Mr. Bates teased the cook, as soon as he sensed that the tension no longer crackled, and their assembly now had a relaxed atmosphere. Even Mr. Carson smiled at this, and the rest of them laughed.

"Then it is agreed? Unless his lordship decides otherwise, William and Daisy should stay." Charles Carson asked the others in the table. A chorus of approval from Bates, Anna, Mrs. Patmore, Molesley and Mrs. Hughes closed the small assembly in the servants' hall. They had taken the opportunity to gather in the servants' hall, ostensibly for a short meal before luncheon, but in reality, it was to hold this small meeting. Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore had given Daisy the day off so she could be able to accompany William to see a doctor in Leeds, one that Captain Dunbar had recommended.

The rest of the staff left the table to perform their duties; Mr. Molesley returned to Crawley House. But Elsie Hughes and Beryl Patmore remained at the table.

"Well, seems like you were right to push Daisy into marrying William," Elsie smiled at her best friend. "When I saw them going out early this morning, they look very happy. William, as usual, looks as if he's jumped over the moon ten times."

"And it's been the making of Daisy. Look at her, she looks more grown up than she's ever been in the past few years." Beryl said, happy tears blurring her eyes. Elsie sipped her tea, and then looked up at Beryl. "Are you putting her in line for a promotion, then?"

Beryl shook her head. "Not yet. Probably next year, she still needs a bit more training. I want her to be ready for bigger things since Mr. Carson wants to push through with making William his successor."

"Thomas won't like it," Mrs. Hughes mused.

"Thomas has made it clear to all and sundry that he's no longer a servant here," was the cook's disdainful reply.

"I can't for the life of me understand why he still insists on hanging around here," Elsie said.

"I don't, either," Beryl said. "The airs he'd put, you'd think he's the son of the Queen of Sheba."

* * *

_Leeds_

_The same day, midmorning_

William and Daisy had to wait for a long time to be able to see the doctor in the Leeds General Infirmary. A large number of wounded soldiers came in; and it showed no signs of abating. They sat in the waiting room, along with a few mothers, screaming children, weeping widows or sweethearts. However, they could still see the arrival of soldiers—some moaning, some screaming in pain.

William stiffened a bit. "A month ago, I was one of them." Daisy said nothing, she just held his hand. Occasionally, he had a nightmare, and Lady Edith or Anna had to send her to William's room to comfort him. Last night was one of them. Since at that time, there was no formal agreement where Daisy and William's sleeping arrangements are concerned, Daisy still slept in her old room. And even if William was allowed to be in the same bedroom as she was, her bed was only meant for one person only. And for a small person, at that.

Not enough room for them to—_never mind,_ Daisy thought, a blush creeping up her face. She didn't even know why she thought of it. But she did. Heaven only knew how many children her parents had—Daisy in fact, was one of eleven. The seventh, to be precise. Her old home in Ripon only had one room—so how did her parents do what they did without her or her brothers and sisters hearing of it? Daisy shook her head._ Not a good time to think about it._ But she had to admit, she enjoyed kissing William, and she never stopped him when he stole a kiss every now and then. Daisy glanced at one of the mirrors in the hallway. She was still blushing.

William noticed that his wife's face was flushed. Could she be ill? After all, the summer weather this year was terrible, and he heard two days ago that Mr. Linton had a heatstroke, so one of the under-gardeners took over for the meantime.

"Are you all right, Daisy?"

Daisy looked at William. "Oh, yes. Yes. Ain't it awfully hot?"

"Yes, very."

"That's the problem. And there's so many people..." his wife's voice floated to a whisper, "...so it makes the heat all the worse." Daisy fanned herself with a _Women Worker's Recruitment Day at Manchester_ _Tramways Department_ leaflet with the slogan, "Good Work, Good Wages for Good Women". Some girl had jammed a fistful of them into Daisy's hand, the amount of which made it possible for her to use it as a temporary cooling device. She fanned diligently for both of them, but most especially for William, as Captain Dunbar had instructed her, Lady Edith, and Lady Sybil to make William feel comfortable and cool as possible, especially during the summer. His lungs, although gradually retrieving its normal functions, needed constant monitoring from time to time. That included keeping him cool as much they can, allowing him room to breathe.

"I'll get ourselves lemonade after we see the doctor," William promised his wife. Captain Crawley (William still addressed Matthew Crawley as such) had given him a tidy sum that covered the expenses for the day. After all, it was on his insistence that William go to a specialist in Leeds for a second opinion, seconded by Captain Dunbar. "Please, let me," Matthew Crawley said to him. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here right now. I'm really grateful, William. I can't even tell you how much." William still had no idea that a letter was waiting in his bedroom in the south gallery. A letter that might change his future—it would mean a slight detour, but it would secure the fruition of whatever hopes of his mother had for him when she was alive.

"Major Pruitt agrees with Captain Dunbar," Daisy said to William. "Ain't it nice? You're really getting better."

"It's slow, but at least it's getting better. You're the only thing that keeps me going," he said to Daisy, who only smiled. She couldn't tell William how happy she was, but she took his hand, squeezed it—and held it for a very long time. Then she swallowed, and said, "You're very, very special to me, William." Her husband blushed, and grinned.

They walked around Leeds looking for a place to eat. Finally, they came across a small pub. He assured the landlord that Daisy was his wife, and they required no chaperone. The landlord was mystified further when both husband and wife asked for lemonade with Cornish pasties. Other men would have asked for ale, beer, or some such. "Doctor's orders," Daisy explained firmly. "My husband has been invalided home, an' he's not allowed to drink anything stronger than that."

They decided to sit at the far part of the establishment, so they could talk in private. "That was a tall tale," William said grinning.

"I can't tell him that you rose from the dead, it's much harder for him to believe," Daisy giggled. William grinned again.

The food arrived—a meal consisting of Cornish pasties (one for each of them), a large pitcher of lemonade, and a large treacle tart. The Cornish pasty was very filling, and Daisy was delighted with the treacle tart. "It's almost as good as Mrs. Patmore's," she told William. Refreshed with the lemonade, they finished the whole pitcher. At the conclusion of the meal, William paid the bill (twelve shillings!), and both of them walked around the city for the early part of the afternoon, then they walked to the train station. The train for Downton would be leaving at three. They purchased their ticket earlier on as not to be bothered with the hassle of a last minute purchase. The train journey was a two-hour ride, which meant that Daisy would be in Downton at five, be in time to help prepare dinner at five fifteen (both Daisy and William left their bicycles in the Downton train station).

At the train, both William and Daisy was the recipient of curious glances. At first, they thought it was because they look too young to be a married couple, but as Daisy observed one private (his uniform reminded her of William's, so she assumed that he was a private and she was correct in her assumption) looking at William oddly, it dawned on her that the young man thought it strange that William was not in uniform. He bluntly told Daisy so. "Your husband is spoiling for a fight. He isn't in uniform."

"Now, see here. Private..."

"Miller, Miss."

"Well, see here, Private Miller. My husband _was_ in uniform. He was badly injured, and so he was sent back home." Daisy left out William's death and miraculous resurrection. "When he got better, he wasn't allowed to return anymore." Which was true, Daisy thought, as Lady Edith once told her that the Dowager Countess told her that her nephew Lord Flintshire had made arrangements for William's honourable discharge, as his health no longer permitted his return to the trenches, as attested by the reports from the Leeds General Infirmary, by Major Clarkson's records and later of his nephew's, Captain Dunbar.

William was listening to his wife talk. He had no idea that on his "resurrection", he (possibly) would still be required to report back to the trenches—Captain Crawley or no Captain Crawley. A strange surge of relief coursed through him. _He wouldn't have to go back._ He remembered telling Captain Crawley that he wouldn't be sorry when the war would be over—a far cry from his overzealous desire to fight for king and country four years ago. The desire was still there, but after being in the trenches, William learned something. Things that he would tell Daisy later on—he had seen and learned a lot during those months—men shaking with fear, coping with as much cognac (smuggled and shared by the French), and endless amounts of cigarettes (both of which he did not partake) as they could to alleviate their sheer terror. So much death, so much destruction—was it really worth it? Innocent people died as well too, due to hunger. William counted on Daisy's letters—receiving and writing them—for strength and sustenance.

The embarrassed private offered his apologies and remained silent throughout the trip.

* * *

_Earlier, the same day_

"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry, Captain Harcourt. I didn't get this back until late this morning and I had to supervise the changing of linen. But here's _Billy Budd_ for you." Edith handed a book to the wheelchair bound patient who watched another pair of officers playing a game of table tennis.

"Oh, thank you, my lady." The grateful officer smiled at Edith, who smiled back and told him he was very welcome. "Oh, and enjoy the book!" she added. Then she was off to attend to another patient. The next one on her list was Major Harrington, then their guest Evelyn Napier, who was able to come to Downton instead of the hospital at Middlesbrough, probably due to Papa's insistence (and he probably had some strings pulled). Papa was not one to break rules, but Edith and Mary figured that their father had had enough of Major Clarkson's unbending attitude. His unwillingness to bend the rule for William proved to be the last straw for Papa, who cared for his servants and tenants as much as he cared for his family.

Edith peered down her basket. _Ah, there it is. The letter._ She walked toward Major Harrington, who was reading today's paper. "Hello. Here's a letter for you, Major Harrington...are you feeling better this morning or is your nose still runny today?"

"I'm feeling a lot better, my lady. You're very kind to ask. I wish summer was done, though. Hay fever is absolutely hell. Begging your pardon, my lady."

Edith nodded at the major, and laughed off the apology. "It's all right. I do agree. It's been beastly hot this summer. Hope your letter contains good news." Major Harrington smiled at Edith. "Thank you, my lady."

The last item in the basket was a parcel for Evelyn Napier. Edith set the basket down on a worktable she had set for herself. She had managed to persuade Mama to let her use a folding table at one corner of the small library as a worktable and desk of sorts in connection to her work in the convalescent home. Her worktable had two ledgers (which didn't contain accounts, but rather records of each convalescent and their progress. The other was her record and timetable of her monitoring of William), a stack of letters addressed to her; a writing case filled with cream-coloured notepaper and envelopes; an inkwell, a narrow box containing two fountain pens; another box contained pen wipers. Beside the writing case was an old teacup with a broken handle containing freshly sharpened pencils, some, however, were worn down to the nub. A rubber eraser was also in the cup.

Edith took the parcel from the basket and went in search of Evelyn Napier. Like Cousin Matthew, he was in a wheelchair. He must have wheeled himself into the front lawn to get a bit of sunshine. Eventually, she found Evelyn on the balcony, watching Mary wheeling Cousin Matthew out to a bench.

Evelyn sensed Edith's presence, and he was right. She was standing next to him, carrying a parcel. "Well, I knew they'd end up together. So much for me hoping," was the first thing he said to Edith.

"They're both forces of nature," Edith said tranquilly, with a smile on her lips. "They can't help being drawn to each other."

Evelyn looked at Edith Crawley. She stood straighter, and there was a quiet air of confidence about her. Edith looked different from the petulant, whiny girl he knew from years ago. In fact, he couldn't believe that she was the same girl who wrote the Turkish embassy that their emissary died in her sister's bed.

"I couldn't believe you're saying that," Evelyn admitted.

"I don't blame you," Edith said simply. Thinking of Anthony Strallan, she added, "But I just want to tell you that I paid for it dearly and I'm not the person I was when I wrote that letter. That person left Downton in 1916." Evelyn understood. It was the year when Downton was requisitioned as a convalescent home—Mary had written to him about it, which was why he was invited here in the first place.

"But I heard she's engaged...a newspaper man? How is that going to work out?" Evelyn asked Edith in puzzlement. Edith sighed. "We're all hoping that she'd break it off with Sir Richard Carlisle any time soon. Papa couldn't stand him. I do think he has some sort of hold over Mary. Something connected with Kemal Pamuk."

"Wouldn't there be a scandal if she does break the engagement?"

Nothing could have prepared Evelyn for Edith's answer. "Then we're right behind her." Remembering that she was still holding Evelyn's parcel, Edith held it out to him. "Oh. Here's a parcel for you." The phone rang from across the hall. "Please excuse me." Evelyn nodded.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Is this Lady Edith Crawley?" a youthful female voice asked.

"Yes, it is. Oh! Miss Swire! And it's _Edith,_ remember? How have you been?" Edith realised she shouldn't have asked Lavinia. Agitation was evident in the caller's voice. "Oh, L—Edith, is it possible for you to get Mary on the line? It's extremely urgent."

"All right. I shan't be but a moment." Edith put the phone down on the table, and ran to her elder sister and cousin. When she reached them, she touched Mary's arm. "Mary—it's Lavinia Swire. She wants to talk to you. She says it's extremely urgent. It's in the hall; I think you should go immediately. I'll take care of Matthew."

Matthew smiled at Edith. "No, thank you, I'll go with her."

Edith nodded. "I think that it's best that you go with her. She's agitated and very concerned for Mary." Matthew nodded, and wheeled himself behind Mary.

Edith went back to Evelyn. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"A matter of extreme urgency," was all Edith could say.

"That Carlisle man is going to make trouble, isn't he?" Evelyn was able to put two and two together. Edith nodded miserably. "From the looks of it, he's going to. When Matthew broke his engagement to Lavinia, it's seemed that it's bound to happen. And Lavinia is an unwilling participant to whatever Carlisle is planning. From what I've heard, she's under his thumb for some reason."

"Good God," Evelyn breathed. "What a tangle." Edith put her face in her hands. "Oh Evelyn. This is my entire fault. I've made such a mess of things," she moaned. Feeling weak all of a sudden, she sat down on a chair beside Evelyn. She began to cry. Evelyn put his arms around Edith. "There, there. You weren't the same person when you wrote the letter. At least this means you know that your sister shouldn't marry Carlisle and that she should break it off with him. He can't be worth a lifetime of misery." Edith, thoroughly comforted by the gesture of the family friend, wiped her tears and blew her nose on a handkerchief she had fished from her apron pocket. Evelyn's attention was diverted towards a dark-haired officer with piercing blue eyes watching them while walking from afar.

"Oh, look. I say, isn't that Captain Dunbar? And why is he watching us?" Evelyn noticed. Edith shrugged. "No idea," she said dryly. "He's a weathervane. One day we get along, the next day, he gets under my skin in a bad way. At least there's one thing he's very good at—disagreeing with his uncle."

Evelyn laughed. "Oh he's not that bad." Edith laughed too, and rolled her eyes. "He can, if he wants to. No, make it 'when'." Edith looked at her wristwatch. She asked one from her father as a Christmas gift so she could properly keep track of her time and activities while helping her mother manage the day to day affairs in the convalescent home since Cousin Isobel had lessened her involvement as she had devoted her energies to the recovery of her son. "I must go and dress for luncheon. Do join us, Evelyn."

"I wouldn't want to be in the way," Evelyn bashfully tried to decline. "Nonsense," said Edith. "You're a family friend. And it helps that there's a positive energy force around the table. Matthew and Mary prefer to eat their lunch in the balcony, so it's two less than I need."

"All right then. Does Captain Dunbar sit with you at the table during meals?"

"Papa insists on it, and I can't for the life of me imagine why."

"If this is going to be a duel," said Evelyn with a grin, "I shall be your second."

"Thank you. I appreciate it very much."

* * *

**So that's Chapter Seven done! I wanted to make it a surprise. We have a special guest, and as you can see, it's Evelyn Napier (one of my favourite characters)! Since I've tweaked things for artistic licence where Mary and Matthew are concerned, I wanted to give Evelyn and Lavinia (I'm sure that if she lived in canon, she'd be perfect for him) a chance—mainly for them to meet and fall head over heels with each other and help Mary and Matthew (get rid of Carlisle—cue in evil laughter)!**

**Re: William and Daisy—I decided to make a little bit realistically awkward. But it's a glimpse as to how Daisy really loves William—more than she cares to admit. And yes, she's not as shy and timid as we thought. Since she took the initiative of kissing William (s02e01), it would be likely now that they're married and they're trying to make a go of it. Especially when she was thinking of ahem, their sleeping quarters. Her blush, however, shows her innocence about the matter of, uh, the ways of love. **

**The leaflet Daisy used to fan William with was inspired by a poster that I saw in the Imperial War Museum shop. I did a bit of research about it so as to give it a more realistic vibe! **

**And as for Edith—for how long will Captain Dunbar get under her skin in a bad way? We'll see next chapter!**

**PS. Special thanks to Altenprano and The Countess and The English Lord for giving a very sweet feedback! Much appreciated! **


	8. A Bright Future Ahead

_Late in the afternoon_

_The same day_

Daisy and William parked their bicycles in their garage. William got his through his father in 1914, a sort of bribe in order for him not to go and fight in the trenches. He hadn't changed much physically, so he had no trouble using it the way he used to. Daisy, on the other hand, got hers through Mr. Crabbe, one of the estate's gardeners. His eldest son Peter was killed in Passchendaele last year, and he (Mr. Crabbe, of course) didn't see himself using a modern contraption such as a bicycle during his lifetime. Neither did he want to dispose of the only thing that reminded him of his eldest son. So, he asked around the servants if they wanted a bicycle. Daisy immediately responded to Mr. Crabbe's inquiry, and so, she became the lucky owner of a lovely brown bicycle. She had always wanted one ever since she could remember, and thought that William was lucky to get one—bribe or not.

"Well...it's me back to the kitchen, I s'pose." Daisy said to William. She was still holding his hand.

"Will you think of me while you help Mrs. Patmore cook?" William teased Daisy. His wife grinned. "If I'd think of you, I'd burn the food. And Mrs. Patmore will send me to cleaning th' pots with a flea in my ear."

"You cheeky girl. I don't suppose you'd want to give your husband a kiss." Daisy smiled and stood on tiptoe. She was a good fourteen inches shorter than William, him standing at six feet and two inches while she stood at only five feet. She tenderly held her husband's face and kissed him with the same amount of tenderness as she held his face. It was long and lingering, and William had to admit that it took his breath away. He never kissed his wife like this before—and neither did Daisy herself. But he liked it. To encourage her, he slid his arm around her hand-span waist and kissed her back. They kissed for a few minutes longer and reluctantly, Daisy drew away. "It would be Mrs. Patmore's screams kissing my ear if I stay out too long," she joked half-heartedly. William blushed as pink as the late summer sky. "We best get inside," he said equally reluctantly.

* * *

Sarah O' Brien couldn't take her eyes off from the young couple kissing in the courtyard. She didn't know that either William or Daisy had it in them. They were married, yes, but she had never seen such display of affection between the two of them before. Thomas always said that Daisy wasn't too happy to be married to William, but from what she saw, Daisy _Mason_ wasn't too reluctant at all—and they were holding hands! And for a girl to hold or kiss a man the way Daisy kissed and held William's face meant that she loved him a great deal. And the girl was happy—very happy. If it was dark, you could see Daisy's face glow. Thomas was wrong, very wrong.

And she looked a great deal prettier and more grown up. Daisy Mason was no longer the shy, mousy, and timid girl she had known since 1905. Sarah usually talked about things with Thomas. But not this time, she thought. She decided to keep her own counsel about this. Grudgingly, Sarah admitted that Daisy was a nice girl, and not quite as thick as she thought her to be. For all his clumsiness and innocence, William Mason wasn't such a bad lad, and Daisy couldn't have done any worse.

What would Mr. Carson do with William and Daisy since they're married? Surely something had to be done. Shrugging, Sarah stubbed the cigarette on the brick wall and crushed it with her shoe. Not her business, not her problem.

Thomas saw Sarah O' Brien looking at the young couple holding hands. "Love's Young Dream, that's what you call it."

"Lay off them, Thomas," Sarah said.

"Aren't you a strange one? You used to call them the dullest knives in the kitchen drawer."

"Doesn't look like it."

"My, my. Someone's changed their tune."

* * *

William was surprised to find a letter on the bedside table. The writing was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't remember where he had seen it before. He thought hard—why, it was from Captain Crawley! What could Captain Crawley want with him? Quickly, William opened the envelope, and read the letter. He assumed that it was brought to the bedside table while he and Daisy were in Leeds.

_31 August 1918_

_Crawley House_

_Dear William,_

_I trust that while reading this letter, your health and spirits are very much improved. It has been a month since we've been taken home from the trenches, and I am strangely relieved that we do not have to return. Cousin Violet (the Dowager Countess) has informed me that she has asked her nephew Lord Flintshire to make arrangements for our honourable discharge, and she apologises that she has not been to visit you yet—but she will, one of these days. I am currently visiting my mother's home (I have won another pitched battle with Major Clarkson about my mobility), but shall have Branson drive me back at the end of the day._

_It is with great excitement that I am writing you this letter—I have discussed this with Cousin Robert (Lord Grantham) and he fully supports and applauds this plan. I would like to have you as my valet. He said that he is pretty tickled with the fact that we would be the younger equivalent of himself and Mr. Bates. A proper meeting would have to be scheduled with Mr. Carson about this._

_There, I've told you! _

_I am writing this not only because I am grateful to you for saving my life—you can't even imagine how—but in the months that we have been in the trenches together, I didn't have a subordinate. I felt as if I've had a brother with me—albeit ten years younger. You were more than just a subordinate, more than just a soldier servant. I felt that I had a younger brother to talk things through, and despite your age, I am amazed to find someone who possesses maturity and depth that one can only find in a man who has lived two scores on this earth. _

_I've taken the advice you've last given me to heart. I've let Miss Swire go. You were right about Cousin Mary (Lady Mary), and I must say that Daisy is a lucky girl to have married you. I haven't stopped loving Mary—not until I die. I do intend to ask Lord Grantham for her hand in marriage. It would have been a foregone conclusion of sorts, but I've always told my mother that I would marry a woman of my own—and my own heart's choosing. My heart and I chose Mary. As for Mary herself, I do intend to ask her once the war ends. She and I still need to sort out things—things outside our control. Please wish me—or rather us, luck. _

_Would Mr. Carson still allow you and Daisy to work despite of your change in (marital) status? Both of you have worked so hard and so long that I think it would be a poor return for your dedication—Daisy's as well. I have written to Lord Grantham and Mr. Carson about this. I would know at the end of the week of their decision. As for Daisy, I shall speak to Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore personally. If they say no, I will find a way to persuade Mrs. Bird to take Daisy in as an assistant, possibly—Mrs. Bird is very fond of her._

_I shall write to you or visit you when I speak Lord Grantham and Mr. Carson. _

_Yours gratefully I remain,_

_Matthew Reginald Crawley, Esq. _

_(We'll be getting our discharge, so I guess it would be pointless to use Captain Crawley)_

William was touched. He knew Captain Crawley was a nice person, but he hadn't expected to be warmly regarded by his direct superior in the regiment he belonged to. A soft knock on the door cut his thoughts short. It was Lady Sybil (who preferred to be called Nurse Crawley).

"I am awfully sorry to intrude, William. But Papa has asked me to send for you. He and Mr. Carson both want to have a word with you." The look William gave her was one of pure alarm; Sybil put her hand on William's shoulder to reassure him that everything would be all right. "Come, let's go down."

* * *

It was odd, but Philip Dunbar couldn't quite shake off the fact that Lady Edith Crawley could manage to attract other men. He had seen her laughing and talking to an officer—she had even let him put his arm around her!

_Whatever she does is none of your concern, old boy._

_Oh, you can't stop thinking about her, can't you? And you've been at Downton Abbey for only a month!_

And who was that dark haired officer she was with this morning? He hated it when he couldn't concentrate. But strangely, she occupied his thoughts. Curly copper-gold hair, eyes as brown as dates from Egypt; that faint, peachy glow in her cheeks, those terra cotta lips...

_Easy now, boy. Easy._

He watched her during luncheon. God, he must be such a masochist to have accepted Lord Grantham's invitation for him to sit with them during less formal meals. The dark-haired officer must be some beau. But if he was her beau...he wouldn't let Edith out of his sight. Wouldn't he?

At the corner of his eye, he saw Edith Crawley writing on some cards, then copying them out to one of the ledgers. She was half-way through her work when she looked up, blinking her eyes, as if trying to concentrate, smiling to herself, tapping her pencil on the table, then went back to her work. Then she looked up again. Unfortunately for her (and fortunately for him), her glance went his way. Her eyes dilated, Edith Crawley bit her lip, shook her head vehemently, and then went back to her work.

_Caught you, milady._

He continued watching Edith Crawley, his report clearly forgotten. He saw another Crawley girl—the youngest this time, judging by her attire—the VAD uniform. Nurse Crawley whispered something to her sister, and Edith groaned. "Oh, Sybil. Don't be ridiculous." Undeterred, Sybil Crawley whispered some more, and then she and Edith burst into laughter. Something about the god Perseus, a mythological creature named Andromeda, the name "Cousin Matthew", "bigger fish to fry", and the word, "brother." And they burst out laughing again. Unfortunately for him, Sybil Crawley noticed that they weren't the only ones in the small library.

"Oh, Captain Dunbar! Do forgive us. It's been long since Edith and I have exchanged sisterly confidences," Sybil said cheerfully. "How are you getting along so far here? I do hope we're making you comfortable," she went on.

"Er, comfort isn't exactly my priority," Philip said. He remembered that Sybil Crawley hated being addressed to as "my lady" when she donned the VAD uniform.

"How are you and Edith getting along?" Sybil was persistent.

Philip Dunbar's Scottish reserve was helpful at this point. "She knows how to take care of her patient." Edith shrugged at this. She had a feeling that the surgeon was merely forced to give an opinion and went back to her work.

Sybil knew when she had to give up. With a loud, frustrated sigh, she left the small library. Edith found it hard to keep her face straight. Her baby sister was up to something, surely. Matchmaking, no doubt. _Oh, give it up, Sybil. It's not going to work. But I have to admit, he's devilishly handsome. And I'm the plain Crawley sister. I shouldn't whine, but it's the truth._

An awkward silence ensued. Captain Dunbar resumed typing his report. The clicking from the portable typewriter was driving Edith mad, which surprised her. Normally, she was _**never** _in short supply of patience, something she needed to have in dealing with the convalescent soldiers and of course, Captain Dunbar.

_He couldn't help it anymore. He had to know. _He walked over to Edith's work station, making her more aware of his presence.

_God_, _Captain Dunbar smells good_. He—_stop it, Edith._

"Who was that officer with you today—this morning?" Philip all but blurted out at Edith, who looked at him as if someone threw rotten eggs at his face.

"_I beg your pardon?" _Edith Crawley replied, obviously taken aback.

"That man—he—had his arm around you."

_What's it to you?_ Edith wondered. She managed to get a grip on herself, preventing her from making an ungracious remark. "Why do you want to know?" she asked rather blankly. Because she honestly did not know why Captain Dunbar wanted to know about the company she kept. Edith pragmatically thought he was being disgusted with her. After all, she wasn't engaged to Evelyn—it just happened that he tried to comfort her when she was in pieces, and they had no idea Philip Dunbar was watching them. No decent, high born woman would allow a man to put his arms around her unless she was betrothed to him. Edith didn't blame the Scotsman for lowering his regard of her.

_No answer._

Edith sighed. The captain was obviously waiting for her answer. "Lieutenant Napier is a family friend. We've known him for a long time—before the war broke out. His mother was friends with my mother. A really nice fellow—I was upset about something and he...he was just trying to make me feel better."

"Are you engaged to him?" Philip_ couldn't_ help it.

"_I beg your pardon?"_

Philip tried again. "Are you betrothed?" _Oh no. Can't the floor just swallow me whole right now?_

He noticed Edith's eyes were closed now, and her lips were moving. Counting to ten, probably—no, make it a _hundred_. After _fifteen,_ Edith held up her left hand. With measured calm, she said, "Captain Dunbar, look at my hand. Do you see any ring? No? Then it's clear. I'm not betrothed to Lieutenant Napier, or to anyone, for that matter. The man I should have been engaged to in 1914 might be dead somewhere in the godforsaken fields of France. And then there's the man I loved—mandated to marry my older sister—my cousin Patrick—is dead, at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. Because a stupid ship owner wanted to prove people that a ship on its maiden voyage makes a fast trip. But it struck an iceberg. Now, if you would excuse me, I have convalescents to look after." She took the ledger which contained the records of the patients' progress, and walked out of the small library.

At this precise moment, Captain Philip Andrew Dunbar felt like an utter heel.

* * *

"You sent for me, my lord?" William asked. Seated in the dining room were Lord Grantham, Captain Crawley, Mr. Bates and Mr. Carson.

Lord Grantham smiled. "Ah. Yes, William. Do come in and sit." William did so with trepidation. _Will I lose my job?_ _But I don't think Lord Grantham would be in such a good mood_.

"I trust that your health and spirits are improving, William." Mr. Carson said gravely.

"My health is slowly improving, Mr. Carson. Thank you very much. My spirits are always up whenever Daisy is around." The other men smothered their smiles. They all knew that William was very much in love with the kitchen maid, whom he married.

Charles Carson would be the last to admit it, but he did tend to get occasionally misty-eyed whenever he saw Daisy buttering William's toast (and perhaps sneak in an extra pat of jam than was usual) or pour his tea and put in milk and sugar without him having to say anything. It wasn't the actual buttering or pouring of tea that made Carson's eyes misty—it was the way Daisy did it. Mr. Carson, in his own fusty way, loved William like his own son. That was why he bothered to upbraid or correct the young man whenever he felt necessary. He also saw a potential in William too—the lad was hardworking, kind and loyal—the fact that he risked his life to save Lord Grantham's heir spoke volumes. And seeing William happy made him happy as well. And it was the making of Daisy as well.

"We are discussing your future here at Downton," Lord Grantham began. "And observing you through the years, I can only agree with Mr. Carson that he sees a bright future ahead of you."

"My lord?" William asked, his face the perfect portrait of stupefaction.

"It has been tradition in English great houses that servants are not encouraged to have romantic relationships with their fellow servants. However, I do also believe that the heart has its reasons which reason cannot explain. We have spoken to a few landowners where two members of household staff are married to each other. Lord Awliscombe is one such example. His butler, Mr. Atkins, is married to the cook. Provided with that precedent, we have decided that you and Daisy work here as long as possible. After all, it seems that Mrs. Patmore is training Daisy for the day that she would take over the kitchen. Mr. Carson, I think you'd be happy to tell William of his future in service."

"I have never seen anyone work with such dedication as you, William. And because of this, I am thinking of the day that you would be the one taking over me after I retire. I see a potential butler in you, William."

William flushed. That was high praise indeed, coming from Mr. Carson. "I—I...it is an honour, Mr. Carson...but...but Thomas...shouldn't he..."

Charles Carson shook his head. "I thought I'd never be able to tell you this. But you've shown greater care and dedication in your work, William. Your attention to the minutiae of the running of this house is enough proof. Which is why Lord Grantham, Captain Crawley, Mr. Bates and I have come up with this arrangement—Captain Crawley has informed you, I am sure, of his desire of having you as his valet—on loan, of course. And for that purpose, Mr. Bates tells me that he is happy to train you to do more than what is basic. After all, becoming a butler requires plenty of skills. And while you are here, I would require you to assist me in some matters involving the running of this house."

William honestly was actually glad to be of use again after a month of being a sort of convalescent. "When—when do I start?" he asked Mr. Carson.

"Captain Dunbar will have my skin if I would let you do anything too strenuous," laughed Captain Crawley. "He says I should give you a month more to rest. But Mr. Carson and Mr. Bates know what will be the extent of your work, William."

"But who will wait and serve at meals? Mr. Carson does not like maids serving." William wanted to know.

Mr. Carson and his Lordship looked at each other. "From time to time, you will help the maids serve. After you left for the Army, Mrs. Hughes and I have agreed that for the duration of the war, the maids shall serve and wait," Mr. Carson said. "I think that you can start by October, William. Go to the farm, see your father. He'll be delighted, I'm sure."

"I will," William said, still feeling very elated—he received the letter from Captain Crawley—but he didn't expect that this would actually happen, let alone it happening _soon_. "Daisy would be delighted too, I'm sure."

* * *

**So that's the eighth instalment—and I hope you guys liked it! Please, please, let me know—anything to improve this story. So, William and Daisy will get to stay after all. ;)**

**As for Edith and Captain Dunbar, he's had it coming! How do you think should he apologise? Any ideas? ;) **

**I shall have to think how to engineer the Lavinia-Evelyn meeting—they're pretty much key in M/M's happy ending! Can't wait to work on Chapter 9 now!**

**And a huuuuggeeeee thank you to Gretchie and BookLoverAlive for your feedback!**


	9. Gather Ye Roses While Ye May

_Evening, the same day_

William liked to be useful—very much so, that Daisy let him help her lay the table at the Servants' Hall. They were the only ones there, and it was the perfect time for him to tell his wife of his good news. Daisy laid the plates, William put in the utensils. As he laid the last spoon down, William looked at his wife. "I've something to tell you," he said, beaming.

Daisy looked at William. She wondered what news he received to make him smile like that. She was sure it was good news, and she hoped she was right. Her husband took her hand, and he went on, "His lordship, Mr. Carson, and Captain Crawley spoke to me this evening. They said we can stay."

Two spots of colour appeared in Daisy's cheeks—mainly due to excitement. "They really said that? We can still work here?" she asked. William nodded excitedly, and added, "And Captain Crawley says he's taking me on as valet. He's written to me too—I'll tell you about it later."

Daisy understood. Anybody might hear and it would become gossip later on. "Outside, at the kitchen garden door," she said. William nodded, and followed his wife as she went to the kitchen to get the servants' supper. Mrs. Patmore saw them on her way out to the servants' hall, carrying the earthenware dish containing the shepherd's pie. "Oh, the convalescent has started to rise and walk."

"Oh, Mrs. Patmore, don't say that, not when he chooses to be helpful when he doesn't have to," Daisy protested. It wasn't fair of Mrs. Patmore to say that, especially when William was getting better. Some colour was returning to his cheeks and he wasn't as thin as he was a month ago.

Satisfied that Daisy rose to her bait, Mrs. Patmore set the shepherd's pie on the table, and her rubicund face broke into a smile. "Are you eating with us now, William?" she asked.

"If it's all right, Mrs. Patmore," William said, carrying the platter of bread and a saucer on which sat half a ball of butter. Daisy took the bread pudding and the treacle sauce from the kitchen table.

The cook observed the young couple. Her kitchen maid had a calmer mien, and if she wasn't mistaken, the girl seemed to be smiling. Sometimes she even hummed while she helped prepare the meals. Oh yes, marrying William was the best decision her girl had ever done. Who would have thought that she would consider Daisy as her own daughter? But then again, she always had, right from that night she was found at the back door of Downton's kitchen. She shook her head sadly, as she remembered her nephew Archie. The lad would never have a family of his own now. The war changed many people. William didn't natter about serving King and country as much as he did four years ago. Perhaps being in it cured him of it.

She saw Daisy who was now cutting the bread. William, for the last time, was checking if they had laid the table properly, re-arranging plates and cutlery. The two of them worked in comfortable silence. When William was satisfied that everything was shipshape, he went to the piano, and run his hand on it. "It's been long since I've played anything," he said. "Sometimes, when I think of war, and of Downton, it does seem like another life, another world. And then, I'm back here."

"Does it make you not want to play anything anymore?" Mrs. Patmore asked, startling William and Daisy, as they did not know that the cook was watching them work. William shook his head. "No...not exactly. It...it just makes me feel grateful to be alive."

"Can you play us a tune, William?" Daisy asked her husband.

"What would you like to hear?" William asked Daisy, who blushed and said, "Anything."

William sat down on the piano bench and began to play a song that both Mrs. Patmore and Daisy haven't heard before. Someone had given him the music sheet as a birthday gift in the trenches. After he was injured, he no longer knew where it was now. But he remembered every single note and committed it to memory, along with Captain Crawley's mission instructions and whatnot. "What's the song called?" Daisy asked.

"You Belong To Me," William replied.

"'Course I do," Daisy replied, a bit confused. Why wasn't William answering her question? "We're married, aren't we?"

William grinned. "I know you do. But that's _really _ the name of the song."

"Oh," Daisy giggled. Mrs. Patmore, who was watching them, rolled her eyes affectionately at the young couple. "Off with you two. We have dinner to take care of."

* * *

"Milady, will you be changing for dinner?" Anna May Smith knocked on Lady Edith's door.

"No, Anna...I'm rather unwell."

"Should I call for Dr. Clarkson, my lady?" Anna asked.

"Thank you but no. I'll only need rest. Just tell Mama that I won't be down for dinner. Can you ask Mrs. Hughes to send up some food later? Thank you Anna, you're an angel."

Anna said no more. To be honest, she didn't blame her young ladyship either. She had been looking a bit peaky lately; taking care of convalescents' needs must have taken a bit of a toll on her usually good health. Still, it was amazing how she had helped Lady Grantham in the running of the convalescent home. Lady Edith wasn't the same person as she was years ago.

Edith sat up in bed. She had changed into more comfortable night attire—she had absolutely no intention of going down tonight. Captain Philip Dunbar struck a nerve in her. Why did he want to know if she was engaged to Evelyn Napier, of all people—or to anyone, for that matter? She had long accepted her lot in life—the less beautiful but indeed helpful and useful sister bound to stay home and take care of her parents in their old age. But that wasn't what she wanted in her life. Years ago, she wanted marriage and a position that would enable her to queen it over her older sister, but she told herself and other people, she wasn't the same Edith Violet Crawley anymore. She just wanted to be loved and have a good home—something she lost when Mary got even with her and told Anthony Strallan that she didn't like him, thus preventing Anthony from making her Lady Edith Strallan. _Where is Anthony now?_

But she couldn't lie to herself either. Lately, she was thinking of Philip Dunbar too—his piercing blue eyes, and the way he spoke. Edith also thought of his good sense—good Scottish sense. _Damn, he_ _is_ _quite attractive_, Edith thought, a giggle rising guiltily up her lips.

She took up her book, and opening it, she noticed that a letter fell from it. It was a note from Evelyn Napier, and she remembered a plot they devised to help Mary and Matthew Crawley. She couldn't believe she was helping her older sister get rid of Carlisle—but then again, she couldn't stomach him becoming her brother-in-law. And besides, Matthew was—_is_ family. Might as well make it official.

Edith read the note again.

_Are you feeling better? How will you get in touch with Miss Swire? We'll have to execute this properly. _

_-EN._

_How indeed,_ thought Edith. She remembered Lavinia's address, but she didn't exactly know what to write to her. _I need you to help me undo another scandal—_but was that proper? She didn't think so. Edith bit her lip. From her small desk, she took a sheet of letter paper, and dipped her pen into the inkpot.

_Dear Lavinia,_

_It may surprise you to hear from me, but I need your help. I am aware that you were acquainted with Richard Carlisle. May I inquire to what extent is your acquaintance with him? _

_Please keep this secret—it's not really mine, but it serves as a background as to how you will help me. Mary has a bad secret, and Richard Carlisle knows about it, otherwise, she wouldn't agree to marry him. I don't want him to be my brother-in-law. Something about him is bad news._

_My relationship with Mary is strained—but I do not want to see her live the rest of her life in misery. Please tell me all that you know. I want to save her from it. _

_Gratefully yours, _

_Edith Violet Crawley_

While waiting for the ink to dry on the letter, Edith wrote Lavinia's address on the envelope. She looked at the letter, and then the envelope, and then sighed. Lord only knows how she and Evelyn could execute this.

* * *

Anna Smith and John Bates exchanged amused grins as they say William and Daisy Mason sitting on the steps of the kitchen garden door. The young couple were whispering to each other—plans, Anna supposed. She smiled. Daisy did a lot of growing up, and she was proud of the young kitchen maid. William would be the making of her. Perhaps he already was. Every breakfast, Anna observed how Daisy buttered her husband's breakfast, or poured his tea. Looking at her, you wouldn't believe she had ever been infatuated with Thomas years ago.

"Look at them," John Bates said to Anna, who was smiling at the young pair. Daisy noticed that they weren't alone, waved to her. Anna waved back, and redirected her attention towards the valet. "What do you see?" Anna asked, grinning. "What I see is a wise young woman who came around," replied John. "Let's leave them to whatever they're talking about."

* * *

"Well, I would have to learn a great deal more from Mr. Bates. The two weeks I've spent helping Lord Grantham dress while Mr. Bates was away wasn't quite enough. I'm glad Mr. Carson allowed it. I never thought he would," William said. They were both sitting on the stone steps of the kitchen garden door.

"And we wouldn't have to leave," Daisy said happily. She was so happy she could burst, and she kissed William on the cheek. "When will you tell your Dad?" she asked. William furrowed his brow in concentration, then he responded. "I'll write, but I'll tell him when I've my day off. Will you come with me?" William asked. Daisy nodded. "I'd like to see the farm. I'll go if Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore say I may." His wife took his hand and laid her head on his shoulder. "I never said this before, but I'm saying this now," William looked at Daisy expectantly. "I love you," she said finally.

"See here, what's brought all this?" William asked. Daisy sighed and went on. "I didn't know I loved you all along. You already know I was left here, for dead by my family. You, on the other hand, had so much love in your family since you were a wee one. I never had it. I knew Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore cared for me, but I don't know if they love me. I'm not used to it, and I don't deserve it neither." William took Daisy's hand in his. "Everyone deserves it. You most of all. And you're wrong. Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore love you. I can see it, even when she's shrieking at you not to let the chicken burn, or when you're too slow in making the fire at the drawing room. And I love _you,_ even after Thomas. I was convinced that you do love me when you tried to stop me from going to war—even if I was _going_ anyway. You may not have told me, but you showed me. But...thank you for telling me."

"Does it feel nice hearing it?" Daisy asked.

"Yes, it does." William said, grinning.

"What was it like in the war?" Daisy asked. She had to. On some occasions, she was permitted to lie beside her husband in the bedroom at the south gallery because he had nightmares and kept calling for her. For a while, her husband closed his eyes, and then he finally replied. "It's the worst," he said, shaking his head. "I thought it was just all about fighting for King and country, but it's much more than that. It's about surviving each day—and it's not just yourself, it's for the soldiers in your regiment. It's hell on earth, really. Villages, cities, and towns, all down to a sorry rubble. Shooting, bombing. Bayoneting another person who could be someone's husband, sweetheart, son or father. Makes you wonder, really, if all kings or emperors were sane or off their rocker all along. Not something I'd want my children to see."

"Do you want them?" Daisy asked, blushing.

"Well...not so soon, but someday, maybe," William replied. He was blushing too. He knew how babies were made—he had seen plenty of animals in the farm mating, but surely, human reproduction was another conversation to be tackled later. In the front, other soldiers and officers took their enjoyment with women who made themselves available—for a considerable sum, he heard, but he and Captain Crawley steered clear of these pastimes, and often stayed in their bunk when the soldiers went out carousing. William found out later that some of the women were riddled with disease—enough for him to wonder why men were willing to do the things they did with the women they saw in some towns. And sometimes, what these men did would result into a baby.

"I know how it happens, don't worry," Daisy said. "It sounds strange, but when I was a little girl, I could hear my parents doing it. They didn't sound like they were in pain, but they were shouting. Sometimes, by accident, my brothers and sisters and I saw it—our house only had one room. But...they had blankets, of course, so we didn't see what they were actually doing."

"Oh," William said. "Well...let's think about it later."

"That's right," Daisy said, then she blushed.

"Can I kiss you goodnight?" William asked, smiling mischievously.

"We've been kissing before I went to Mrs. Patmore, so I s'pose we could again," Daisy said giggling. Encouraged, William took his wife in his arms and kissed her, the same way she had kissed him that afternoon. His wife encouraged and returned the kiss eagerly, one arm around his shoulder. Reluctantly, they parted, and went back to the kitchen.

* * *

Philip Dunbar saw two people locked in an embrace as he was walking from the garage after parking his car—he had just made his rounds with his uncle in Farley Hall and Templestowe House, seeing to the convalescents. As he walked closer, it was his patient, William Mason and his wife, the kitchen maid Daisy. He had heard that the former Private Mason was twenty three, his wife three years younger. They were young and obviously in love. He came from a loving family himself, so he knew that love _and _romance existed, no doubt about that. Philip was only doubtful of its permanence. His parents were a given—his father couldn't live without his mother, and his mother was no better. Maybe people like William and Daisy Mason were luckier—they had each other and perhaps nothing else.

Philip lived in a comfortable home in Glasgow. His father was a barrister; his mother was a teacher in a girls' boarding school. His parents loved each other—and made sure that it spread to him and his younger sisters. Daphne, who was born eight years after him was a widow, but she loved her husband very much, and saw no sense in stopping her husband when he wanted to fight. Anne on the other hand, was firm about marrying Bertie Lee, who she met in a field hospital while doing VAD work in France—wooden leg and all.

And he, Philip Andrew Dunbar was still unspoken for, at thirty three. But it wasn't always that way.

Before, he was engaged to marry Marianne Stuart, the daughter of the owner of a needle factory. Marianne was beautiful, charming—the blonde, blue-eyed version of Lady Mary Crawley. Marianne was invited by her cousin, Lady Margaret Telfair to a house party. Not only had she lain in bed with one of the footmen, she ran off with him. And Philip no longer heard from her since—he had only heard of the elopement from Marianne's older sister. And after that, he had shut his heart down. Until he met Lady Edith—or rather, Lady Edith Violet Crawley. While she was no raving beauty like her younger sister Nurse Crawley (who he suspected was carrying something on with the chauffeur), or Lady Mary who was said to be officially engaged to a newspaper tycoon (the servants were very vocal in expressing their hope that her young ladyship would change her mind—Sir Richard Carlisle was said to be a very horrid man), there was still something with the middle Crawley daughter. Lady Edith had no trouble telling people the blunt, painful truth, but still managed to do it with gentleness and grace. And she was very attentive, kind and funny—and also kind to the servants, and treated them like family—the way she looked after Private Mason was enough proof. While she did not have a close relationship with Lady Mary, she was trying very hard to get along with her older sister, an attempt which seemed to be succeeding.

Then Philip remembered what he said and did earlier this evening. He certainly would have a lot of apologising to do.

* * *

_The next day_

_Dear Lady Edith,_

_I apologise about what I said yesterday evening. It was rude and uncouth of me, and I apologise for hurting your feelings so deeply. Please be assured that it would never happen again in the future. I was about to apologise last night, but your maid told me that you were feeling unwell. I know that flowers may not necessarily soothe your wounded feelings, but I'm still hoping these would make you feel better. _

_Yours sincerely, Philip Andrew Dunbar (Cpt)_

Edith Crawley found the note with the bouquet of pale pink roses on her work table. Maybe it was coincidence, but someone had taken time to know what kind of roses she really liked best. Philip Dunbar was nice, even though he was prickly at times. She would just have to be careful in the future. And she liked him, despite of his prickliness. The stomping of boots brought her back to reality. She turned around to see who it was, and it was Captain Dunbar himself.

"I...I hope you like the flowers. I...I asked your sister, Lady Mary which roses you liked best, and she said that you like pink roses. Uh, pale pink ones." For the first time since she met Captain Dunbar, Edith saw him blush.

"I do like them, thank you. It was very kind of you to give these flowers," she said to the captain, who blushed again. "I'm so sorry about yesterday evening. I didn't know what came over me," he finished.

Edith smiled. "Apology accepted. Friends?" she asked, holding out her hand.

Philip took her hand. "Yes, friends."

* * *

**Here's the ninth instalment! I'm really, awfully sorry that this was late. A lot of stuff came up, so I had to put the updates on hold. Please let me know if you've liked this-but if you don't, let me know all the same! So I can make improvements for Chapter 10!**

**Huge thanks for Gretchie's suggestion-yes, Captain Dunbar gave Edith flowers. ;) **


	10. Straight of Limb, True of Eye

_November 1918_

It has been a month since William started work again. Since he was both under Mr. Carson's and Mr. Bates' direct supervision, he wore his usual footman's livery to work instead, to avoid confusion. After all, Captain Crawley wasn't married to Lady Mary yet. Rather, Sir Richard Carlisle's presence was frequent, and although the servants said not a word, they resented it whenever he went to visit. There was another thing that mystified them. Word had reached the servants that Captain Crawley was no longer engaged to Miss Swire—but she was visiting them as well. Lady Mary didn't seem to mind. In fact, she even welcomed it.

Daisy had finished with her duties from the kitchen, and Mrs. Hughes requested if she could hump the basket of logs to rekindle the fires downstairs, since William was still upstairs helping Bates and Lord Grantham get dressed. She was going to put the last logs to the fire when an officer rose to help her, and he walked using a cane, which he set down on a chair.

"That's too heavy for a young girl to carry! Let me help you." Daisy looked up and saw it was Mr. Napier, one of Lady Mary's friends.

"Oh sir, you don't have to, you're supposed to rest and get better."

"I insist," Mr. Napier said. "War's taken so many of our young men—and not just young men. So sad." He carried the basket for Daisy, and then set it down as she went to the Great Hall fireplace. "You must be very young, you can't be eighteen."

"Thank you for the help, sir." Daisy said shyly. "I only look young, but I'm twenty."

"Good heavens, I am so sorry. You look very young."

"No matter, sir."

William saw Daisy speaking to Mr. Napier—Lieutenant Napier, rather. He increased his steps and almost practically rushed to Daisy. "I wish Mrs. Hughes waited for me to finish. I'm sorry," he said to his wife. To Lieutenant Napier, he gave a salute. "Sir," he said. Evelyn Napier grinned. "No need, you're not in uniform. Private Mason?" William nodded. To his surprise, Lieutenant Napier shook his hand. "Well done. I've heard what you've done for Captain Crawley—the hero of Downton. What an extraordinary miracle."

William blushed. "Thank you, sir. It's an honour to have served under Captain Crawley. Sir, this is my wife, Daisy."

Evelyn Napier was surprised. "I didn't know! Well, isn't that lovely." He took Daisy's clean hand, and shook it. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Mason. I must be going—have you seen Lady Edith by the way?"

Daisy nodded. "Yes, sir. She's in the small library. She's got a small worktable over there. Miss Swire is there too."

William waited until Captain Napier was out of earshot. "What does he want with Lady Edith and Miss Swire?" he bent down and whispered in his wife's ear. "I can't tell you here. Let's go to the stairs so I can tell you," she whispered back.

"Is there anyone about?" Daisy asked. "Shut the door and lock it," she told William, whose curiosity increased tenfold. He then he sat on a stair step beside his wife.

"Well?" he asked.

Daisy took a deep breath. "Remember when I told Anna, Gwen, and Miss O' Brien that I hated being in Lady Mary's room?" William nodded, which prompted Daisy to continue. "Remember that Turkish gentleman who stayed here with the funny name? Anyhow, Lady Grantham, Lady Mary and Anna were carrying him—back to his room, I s'pose—I think he was already dead when I saw them. Anyway, it became a scandal of sorts. I heard Thomas and Miss O' Brien talking about it more than once. The man Lady Mary is going to marry—this Sir Richard, knows it too. That's why Lady Mary thinks she's got to marry him. Lady Edith knows about the scandal too, and so does Mr. Napier. Miss Swire knows enough about Sir Richard and they're plotting to get rid of him."

"What are they going to do?" William asked, perplexed.

"I don't know," Daisy said helplessly.

"Well, I thought the war put to stop any secrets from coming into this house," William said. "I was wrong."

* * *

Mary Josephine Crawley heaved a sigh of relief as Richard Carlisle left once more for London. She sat on the bench with her cousin Matthew, one sunny mid-morning. The autumn air was clean and crisp—and a hint of coolness made it all the better.

"Why can't you just sack Carlisle? If you're not happy—you look like a woman old before her time."

"I can't, Matthew. You wouldn't understand. I've made my bed, and I'm to lie in it."

"Try me," Matthew Reginald Crawley was persistent.

"If I tell you, you will despise me, and that I cannot bear." Mary replied. The sound of tears was evident in her voice. Matthew held her hand. "If you could only tell me—please, Mary." Defeated, Mary sighed, and told him everything. How she flirted with Kemal Pamuk in 1913, the night he ended up in her bedroom, and how she let him have his way with her.

"Did you love him?" Matthew asked. "Because if it was love, then..." Mary interrupted him with a sharp intake of breath and a ragged sob. "It was lust, Matthew! Or a need for excitement, or something in him that I...oh, God, what difference does it make? I'm Tess of the d'Urbervilles to your Angel Clare. I have fallen. I am impure."

Matthew didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Probably, he thought, he might do both. "Don't joke. Don't make it little, not when I'm trying to understand," he said.

Mary kept her face buried in her hands. "Thank you for that. But the fact remains...that I am made different by it. Things have changed between us." But Matthew took one of her hands and Mary was forced to look up at him. "Even so," he said, "you must not marry him."

Mary now put her other hand on her lap, while Matthew was holding the other. "Thank you for that. But the fact remains...that I am made different by it. Things have changed between us." But Matthew took one of her hands and Mary was forced to look up at him again. "Even so," he said, "you must not marry him." Mary looked confused, but finally, she said, "So I must brave the storm?" Matthew nodded and continued to hold Mary's hand. "You're strong. A storm-braver if ever I saw one."

Mary let out a sad, strangled laugh. "I wonder. Sybil's the strong one. She really doesn't care what people think, but I'm afraid I do. Papa suggested I go to New York to stay with Grandmama to ride it out." Matthew looked at Mary. "So he already knows," he said quietly.

Mary nodded. "Mama was forced to tell Papa, because Papa told her that I was looking a woman growing old before my time."

"And?"

"She told him everything."

"Does he despise you?" Matthew asked. He knew Cousin Robert wouldn't banish Mary—_surely_ he wouldn't.

"He's very disappointed in me," Mary sighed.

Dryly, Matthew said, "You can find some unsuspecting millionaire." His tone was deceptively light, but his heart ached for Mary. He longed to offer her a solution that could solve all her problems, but knowing her and the infamous Crawley pride, she would refuse it. Mary caught on with the tone of his voice. "One who does not read English newspapers."

Mary didn't say anything more; she just sat, and looked wistfully at Downton Abbey. Matthew was not used to seeing Mary like this. "Go or stay, you must sack Carlisle. It isn't worth buying off a month of scandal with a lifetime of misery. When is he due back?"

"In two weeks," Mary closed her eyes and shuddered at the thought.

"Do you want me to be here?" Matthew asked. Mary nodded. "Just knowing that you're around helps," she said, smiling.

They continued to watch the people walking about, and Matthew waved to William, who was accompanied by Daisy, on his afternoon walk. William was allowed to go walking outdoors to get fresh air for an hour, and Mrs. Hughes allowed Daisy to accompany him for that purpose. William waved back with his other hand—the other one holding his wife's. The young couple walked to another direction—down the hill where wildflowers grew. Matthew remembered that William told him he liked the wildflowers better than the "posh flowers" from the greenhouse, cut into vases.

"They look very happy," Mary observed. Matthew nodded in agreement, and was trying hard to keep his face straight. "He's crazy about her. Clean gone, the men in my regiment said. He couldn't talk of anything else."

"It's a wonder how the men haven't teased him," Mary said, grinning mischievously. Matthew gave up trying to sober and he laughed. "Oh, they do. But it meant that he's been given extra paper or pencils—in exchange for cigarettes. They said that if William wasn't such an innocent, they'd send something really bawdy for Daisy. Of course it won't get to her," Matthew said, grinning rakishly. "They know I'll be filtering their letters. I couldn't really tell William to shut up—we were on the same league—thinking of a girl back home."

"Lavinia," Mary said.

Matthew shook his head. "No. You—it was always you. You've always kept me going." Mary's eyes were wide with shock. Then she blushed. "I was always praying for you—even when things went wrong between us. I wanted you to be safe—I still do." Matthew smiled. "That's good to know." A sudden nugget of thought flashed on his brain and he realised he had to ask Mary a question before he let the Pamuk matter drop. "Can I ask you something?"

Guardedly, Mary nodded. "Go ahead," she said.

"On the night that Pamuk went to your room, did you tell him where your room was?" Mary bristled for awhile, but realised that indignation would get her nowhere. "No, I didn't. In fact, I was surprised he came to my room. I was reading a book before I went to sleep. I heard the door open, so I looked up to see who it was and I saw that Kemal Pamuk walked in. He said that screaming would be a waste of time, because any servant who finds him in my room would spread word around, and it would be a scandal. So he began kissing and kissing, so I gave in and..."

"Then he forced you." Matthew's mouth was a thin, hard line. Mary, it must be admitted, looked confused. "He didn't force me—I gave in, I..." Hearing Mary say it made him angry, but not at her. "He forced you, Mary. He made you believe that lie. I hope he burns in hell."

"Matthew..." Mary began, but Matthew gave her a stern yet imploring look, asking her to let him finish what he was saying. "One doesn't have to resort to violence. What is important is that he forced you—even if you said you gave in. He gave you no choice but to give in." Mary gave Matthew a look that was a cross between hopeful and relieved. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Tears were rolling down her face.

Matthew was hit with a realisation. Was this why Mary couldn't accept his marriage proposal in 1914? Because of this terrible secret she had been holding for years? He felt ashamed for not having pressed her to tell him why. But how would he have reacted then? He wasn't the same Matthew Crawley four years ago. On an impulse, Matthew wrapped his arms around Mary and held her close while her silent sob turned into a choking, heart-rending one.

"Was this why you couldn't accept my offer of marriage all those years ago?" he finally asked Mary. She nodded, and he held her tighter and whispered "I'm so sorry," over and over again.

* * *

"When will Richard Carlisle visit again?" Evelyn Napier asked Edith. She furrowed her brow and bit her lip. "If I remember correctly, I think he said, in two weeks. He wants to show Mary the property he bought...um...yes, Haxby Park."

Evelyn was startled. "Didn't the Russells live there?"

Edith shook her head sadly. "They gave it up when Billy was killed. We absolutely have no idea where they are now."

"Who are the Russells?" Lavinia asked curiously, as she put down a tapestry she was embroidering.

"We sort of grew up with them as the estates of our parents were pretty much near each other. When we were children, they had the most spectacular parties. There was always ice cream." Evelyn laughed as he explained.

"And the guests go home with a bag of sweets," added Edith, grinning. "Any one who has a sweet tooth would find the Russell parties a veritable paradise."

"I do have a sweet tooth," laughed Lavinia. Edith laughed along with her and shook her head. "Too bad everything is on ration now, even sugar. I hope we could tempt you with our apple tart. Daisy, our kitchen maid, makes delicious apple tarts—so delicious you would forget your name."

"I saw her awhile ago, carrying a basket of logs at the Great Hall fireplace. She looks very young for her age," Evelyn contributed.

"Be that as it may, she's married," Edith said. "I think she and William would have a happy life together. They're young and full of potential."

Lavinia looked at the window, where she saw Matthew and Mary sitting on a bench from afar. "I don't want Mary to be trapped by Richard Carlisle's blackmail. He thinks he can destroy people and crush them whenever he wants."

"Why, Miss Swire? Have you been fallen prey to Richard Carlisle's blackmailing?" Evelyn turned to look at Lavinia, who looked rather pale.

Lavinia nodded, and was about to say more when Robert Crawley, Lord Grantham burst into the small library, his flushed face triumphant and glad. Giddily, he took his daughter by the waist, hugged, and then kissed her on the cheek. "You may not believe it—and I'm sorry to disturb your small gathering. But you must know—the war is over!" Other people—mainly the officers heard Robert's news and they cheered. Edith hugged Lavinia, Robert shook Evelyn's hand. Everybody had gone wild.

Edith hugged her father again, and he returned it. "Isn't this marvellous?" she asked her father, who nodded. He excused himself so he could give the announcement to the other people.

"What were you going to say?" Evelyn asked Lavinia, who whispered, "Later. I'll tell you both later."

* * *

_Later, that evening_

The servants were discussing the future of Europe in the event the war would end. Tom Branson and Mr. Carson were at loggerheads about Germany. "A German Republic? No, I don't think so, Mr. Branson. The Kaiser will go, I grant you, and maybe the Crown Prince, but there'll be a regency, mark my words. Monarchy is the lifeblood of Europe," Charles Carson bristled. Tom Branson shook his head, rather sorrowfully. He understood that it would be hard for people like Mr. Carson to accept that the world was changing and it would remain to do so—with or without his permission. And speaking of permission, he wondered when Sybil would give him her decision. Surely, she would have heard by now.

"Sorry Mr. Carson, but I think you'll find the kings and emperors have had their day, if President Wilson has anything to say about it."

"The League of Nations?" William piped in. He resumed some of his former chores like ironing the morning papers and polishing the silver. Sometimes, he helped in the kitchen, like chopping vegetables and mopping the floors. There were only two hall boys—Michael and Harold (Harry to others), and they had plenty of chores to do. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes didn't want to assign any strenuous tasks to William, as he was still regaining his strength. Early this morning, as he ironed the papers, he read a bit of the news, and one of the topics there was about President Wilson and his League of Nations. Having been in the war himself, William wondered how the leaders and the rulers of the world would sort themselves out.

"Oh, look at him," Thomas drawled. "Showing off his newfound knowledge. Just because you're the hero of Downton doesn't mean you'll have to do your strutting." William only rolled his eyes and ignored Thomas. Tom Branson, who by the way, was sitting across William and beside Jane, on the other hand, felt relieved that he found someone he could converse with. "Well," Tom said with a smile, "tell me all you know about the League of Nations."

"Well, it's what President Wilson intended to do. But I've read that two men named Bryce and Dickinson planned to put up a similar one in 1914."

"If only it came to light earlier on," Tom Branson said. William nodded, but sadly replied, "Well, 'if only' won't do much help." Tom reluctantly agreed, and he nodded. He and William were sidetracked by a conversation between Mr. Bates, Anna and Miss O' Brien.

"But what will you say to her that you haven't said already?" asked a perplexed Anna.

"I don't know," replied John Bates, frustration lacing his voice. He struggled to keep it from being too obvious. "But I know staying here won't make any difference."

Sarah O' Brien was listening intently. Waiting for Mr. Bates to finish, she fished, "You're always going up and down to London these days, Mr. Bates."

Irritated, John replied. "I have business in London." He was further irritated when the lady's maid quipped, "Well, judging by your expression, your business doesn't seem to be prospering. "

Finally, Anna couldn't contain her irritation any longer. "The trick of business," she said rather snappishly, "is to mind your own."

Sarah O' Brien was prevented from constructing a comeback as Lord Grantham came into the Servants' Hall, and everyone shuffled and stood up. "I'm sorry to disturb you," he said. "But I...I've heard news from the War Office and I thought that you'd all like to know..._that the war is over."_

**Yay-chapter 10! I couldn't believe I was able to carry on with this fic-please let me know what you like and don't like-so I'll be able to improve it. Your reviews will be much appreciated!**

**The title of this chapter is a line gleaned from the poem "For The Fallen", by Laurence Binyon. This was the same poem that Mr. Carson read in the unveiling of the memorial scene (in case some of you haven't known yet).**


	11. Take Up Our Quarrel With The Foe

_Evening, the same day_

"Lavinia? You said you were going to tell us something," Edith prodded the only other young woman in the room. Lavinia, during her visits to Downton, saw the hive of activity, and not wanting to be in everybody's way, she took to helping the Crawley women attend to the convalescents. She was Edith's assistant of sorts in delivering parcels and assisting them in their needs, which usually consisted of writing letters, or looking for books to read. They were just taking a short break, and Edith saw Evelyn Napier talking to Captain Dunbar, whose other eye it seemed, was focused on Edith.

Lavinia took a deep breath. "Have you heard of the Marconi scandal?" she asked. Edith bit her lip, and then answered, "I vaguely remember it. Why?"

"That's when it started," Lavinia whispered.

"What is it?"

"Richard Carlisle knew my father and his brother, my Uncle Jonathan. He was one of those involved in...In the scandal."

"How did your father enter the picture, Miss Swire?" Evelyn asked. He was able to catch bits and pieces of Edith's conversation with Lavinia Swire. It was strange, but he only got to really look at her intently just this morning. He wondered if he was mad, taking on Matthew Crawley's leavings. But Mary assured him that it was an amicable separation, and he was reassured—just a little.

* * *

Evelyn remembered one conversation he had with Mary. It was a month ago; a month after he had accepted that he was not going to be the love of Mary Crawley's life. Her cousin, Matthew Crawley, had that honour. Evelyn also wondered if Matthew Crawley knew of the Pamuk incident. He sincerely hoped for Mary's sake that her cousin would not be so high-minded, and discard her.

They were in the Great Hall, walking side by side. Mary was carrying a tray full of drinking glasses; he had his hands clasped behind him. Miss Swire was also visiting at that time.

"Does Mr. Crawley mind Miss Swire's presence?"

Mary shook her head. "It's Matthew. And no, he doesn't. But to make sure, I asked his permission before I invited her. She's a kind, gentle girl, and never did anything to hurt anyone. I think she could become a very good friend."

"That's good, then," Evelyn said. He shifted on his other leg a little. It only a month since he got off his wheelchair, and walked with the aid of a stick. Sybil Crawley, who preferred to be called Nurse Crawley, made sure his legs got proper exercise.

"You're smitten, aren't you?" Mary teased him as she noticed his eyes strayed over to Lavinia Swire, who was carrying a basket (Mary thought that Lavinia picked up Edith's rather surprising efficiency) of books and parcels. Evelyn frowned a little. "What if I am?" he ground out rather irritably. Mary chuckled and smiled at him indulgently. "Heavens, Evelyn," she said, grinning. "There's no problem about it. I think the both of you look good together."

Sceptically, Evelyn raised an eyebrow? "Oh? Do you really think so?" he asked.

"I do solemnly swear I'm not pulling your leg." Mary said smiling.

"Mary?" Evelyn asked. "Does Mr. C—Matthew know about the Pamuk affair?" Mary shook her head and shivered. "I'm so scared, Evelyn. I don't know how to tell him, and when I do, what would he say? He—asked me to marry him in 1914. But that night in 1913 made me hold back. I was so scared. And I'm still scared. And about Lavinia—don't worry. Matthew will even give you his blessing." Evelyn made a face, but he chuckled all the same.

* * *

Evelyn was brought back to the present when he observed that Miss Swire was trembling.

"I'll need a drink of water," said Lavinia. "It's a long story."

"I'll fetch you a glass," Edith said with a nod, and went to the kitchen. Both Lavinia and Evelyn waited for Edith and the promised glass of water; they fumbled for words—or rather, a conversation piece.

"It's a busy place," Lavinia said, smiling. "I couldn't bear not to do anything. Edith was sweet to let me help her." Evelyn nodded, acknowledging Lavinia's reply. Mary was right, he thought. He was _smitten._ Fortunately (on Evelyn's part, _unfortunately),_ Edith went back with a pitcher and a glass of water on a tray. She set it down on her worktable, and offered the glass of water to Lavinia, who took it and drank it. Then she drew a breath. "My uncle Jonathan Swire was one of those involved in the Marconi scandal," she explained to Evelyn and Edith. "My father owed Richard Carlisle a huge amount of money—I forgot how much. Anyway, in order for Richard Carlisle to forgive Daddy's debt, I was to give him the information about the scandal. And I did—I stole them from Uncle Jonathan's desk."

Evelyn's mind spun. Why was it that the women he liked were riddled with scandal? Funnily enough, it didn't deter him. Strangely still, he felt protective towards Lavinia Swire—something that he didn't feel with Mary Crawley.

"Richard Carlisle is like a shadow no one wants to be appended to," Lavinia said quietly. "That's why I don't want the same thing to happen to Mary. He'll make her miserable. Richard wanted me to go back to Matthew. I said I couldn't. So he kept trying to threaten me."

* * *

Downstairs, the servants were celebrating. Charles Carson brought two bottles of wine from his personal collection, and everyone was hugging each other and cheering. Carson was even found by a giggling Mrs. Patmore and Daisy to be tapping his foot to "It's A Long, Long Way to Tipperary," as Mrs. Hughes requested William to play on the piano. Anna and Jane were clapping their hands to the music. Mr. Bates was smiling, his troubles temporarily forgotten. Even O' Brien and Thomas, their sullenness discarded for the meanwhile, participated in the merriment.

Beryl Patmore took Daisy aside. She knew of William's proposed promotion, and she was pleased for the young couple. "When will you be telling your father-in-law?"

Daisy shook her head. "I don't know yet. T'would depend if Mrs. Hughes or you allow me to have the same half-day as William. And William says that Mr. Mason would like it if I called him Dad too." Beryl smiled, it was a good sign that Daisy was well-received by Abner Mason. But then again, she already was. "That can be arranged," she said. "I'll speak to Mrs. Hughes about it."

"Thank you," said Daisy gratefully. "It would mean very much to William."

If Beryl was honest, she was happy, amazed, and proud of the change in Daisy. She thanked the Lord in prayer every night for bringing William back to life. The girl bloomed in front of her—quieter, less absent-minded, a little more confident, and a little less obstinate. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to speed up her training for a promotion. The girl deserved it. Beryl had heard a rather amusing story from May Bird (Mrs. Crawley's cook) about Daisy's loyalty, when she was in London at the Moorfields Eye Hospital. Although she was appalled that Daisy would go as far as she did to do that, but she had to admit that the girl's act of loyalty warmed her heart, especially since she had shrieked and shouted at Daisy from dawn till dusk.

William was now playing "Roses of Picardy," and everyone, even O' Brien and Thomas, sang along. Mrs. Hughes offered to pour Daisy another glass of wine, but she declined. "No, thank you," she said. "But I'll get one for William. His lungs need it." Elsie Hughes couldn't help but beam at the girl's thoughtfulness. She watched as the kitchen maid sat on the piano bench next to her husband, and put the glass of wine on the piano top.

With gusto, the staff sang the song, and every song that had been made popular during the four years of war. William was now playing the song that was popular with the soldiers and with people at home.

_Private Perks is a funny little codger_

_With a smile, a funny smile._

_Five feet none, He's an artful little dodger,_

_With a smile, a sunny smile._

_Flush or broke, he'll have his little joke,_

_He can't be suppressed._

_All the other fellows have to grin,_

_When he gets this off his chest, Hi!_

_Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag,_

_And smile, smile, smile!_

_While you've a Lucifer to light your fag,_

_Smile, Boys, thats the style._

_What's the use of worrying?_

_It never was worthwhile._

_So, pack up your troubles in your old kit bag,_

_And smile, smile, smile!_

"How did you learn that?" Thomas was amazed. William smiled at him. "From a music sheet. Captain Crawley must have heard that I know music, so he gave me a music sheet for this song on my birthday." With grudging approval, Thomas gave a curt nod at the younger man. Four years on, the memory of William lamping him was still fresh in his mind. He never knew the boy had it in him. William was already twenty-three, he knew, but Thomas still thought of the former second footman as a _boy._ With a sudden pang of resentment, Thomas envied him. Word came from the servants' hall grapevine that William was up for a promotion in the household staff—Captain Crawley's valet, and that _Mr. Carson told Lord Grantham that should he retire, he wanted William to take over_. He wouldn't be surprised if—heaven forbid it would happen.

* * *

Finally, the party came to an end, and William and Daisy went to the back door to talk, in their usual spot—the kitchen garden steps. It being November, the evening air was nippy, so William took care to wear a cap to keep him from getting a cold. Daisy put her head on her husband's shoulder. "So the war is over. Wonder what's goin' to happen to the soldiers?" she mused. "I hope they won't find it hard to start over."

William nodded. "Yes. I can't help but feel very lucky. And that means I should work harder."

Daisy looked up at him. "Not too hard, won't you?" William nodded reassuringly. "I can't wait to go and see Dad," he said, smiling.

"Me too," his wife said shyly. Then, "How's your training with Mr. Bates going on?" she asked.

"So good, so far. It'll be a bit hard to dress Captain Crawley up as he's sitting on his wheelchair. Nothin' we can't manage, though."

"D'you think he'll be that way forever?"

"I don't know," William said, rather uncomfortably. He didn't want to think of his superior at the army being _reduced_ to that state. "He did tell me and Mr. Bates that he feels a tingling in his legs, but he insisted that he was just imagining it and asked us to promise to tell no one."

"I hope he gets better," Daisy said. "He's ever so nice, and I wish Lady Mary would marry him instead of that horrid Mr. Carlisle. I don't care if he's a Sir. He's horrid, don't know what Lady Mary sees in 'im, scandal or no scandal." William agreed with his wife on this. "I think Lieutenant Napier is sweet on Miss Swire," he added.

"He never! How d'you know?" Daisy was flabbergasted, to say the least. "Wasn't she engaged to Captain Crawley? Odd, Captain Napier taking Captain Crawley's leavings."

"Captain Crawley has given his blessing, or so Thomas puts it," William said dryly. He was trying very hard to remain civil to Acting Sergeant Barrow, as he preferred to be called now. Thomas put on more airs than people would put in a hot air balloon. _Some things, never change, _William thought. Thomas could get gossip or the dossier on anyone faster than the Military Intelligence. The first time William heard of that word was from Captain Crawley's friend, Sergeant Andrew Milburn, with whom Captain Crawley read Law in Oxford. Both of them were in the same regiment, and were very close, like brothers. William wondered where Sergeant Milburn was now—the last he had seen of him was in Amiens. He hoped that the kindly officer made it alive.

Daisy's squeal interrupted his thoughts. "Oh...oh! Look, William! It's snowing! Winter's here!" William looked up to see that yes, snowflakes were falling and both of them laughed and hugged each other, and trying to catch snowflakes at the same time. Daisy remembered William's first winter at Downton. They became firm friends the day they met, and William once promised her that he would show her freshly falling snow. It hadn't happened until this evening at the end of the war, and they wouldn't have thought that they would be married to each other.

They would have been at it longer, had not Mrs. Patmore shrieked, "William! Daisy! Get yourselves back inside before the two of you catch your death of cold!"

William and Daisy looked at the cook who had poked her head out of the door to shriek at them. Then they grinned at each other, and ran hand-in hand back inside.

* * *

**I'm so, so, sorry for the delay in updates! Things have been busy both at home and work that my schedules have become haywire—if that's the proper word for it! Anyway, I'll try to make a Chapter 12 as soon as humanly possible. As usual, reviews are highly appreciated! The title of this chapter comes from the third stanza of the poem "In Flanders Fields".**


	12. Ding Dong Merrily on High

_Christmas morning, 1918_

The biting cold woke Daisy Mason up. She looked at her husband, who slept beside her. Daisy, as a rule, wasn't allowed to share her room with a man of course, but the man in question was her husband, so she was allowed. Furthermore, there were no available cottages yet and William still had nightmares, which was a valid excuse. Daisy was lucky that her room was at the far end of the corridor, and every wall was thick, so if they got up to anything, nobody would hear. That is, if they ever got up to anything.

They got the bed at a small sale being held in a boarding house in Ripon. While it was not the biggest of beds, it could fit two people in it, and possibly a small child, and that was enough for William and Daisy, as William was a tall, strapping fellow. The bedstead came with the bed, and they got it for three pounds. The bed, along with other items were being sold as the proprietress of the boarding house was remarrying (her husband died in action at Verdun, and would be marrying his friend, who looked after her) and wanted to give up the business. The property was to be sold to a barrister, who intended to turn the premises into an office, and along with it, his personal quarters.

Stretching and yawning, Daisy got up to get dressed and ready for the new day. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she heard her husband say, "Morning, Daisy. And happy Christmas too." Daisy turned to smile at her husband. "Morning," she said. "Didn't know you were awake."

"Just," William said, grinning.

"I need to wash myself. I won't be long," his wife said, as she gathered her things to go out. "I'll make the bed," Daisy promised. "Don't worry about that," she said, and then exited from the room. William sat up, and looked at the skylight. The moon was still up, and it shone brightly. William took the clock at the table, and from the light of the moon, he saw that it was thirty minutes past four. He understood why his wife wanted an early start—today being Christmas day, her day would be packed. And so would be his—the convalescents were still there—and William heard that they would remain there until early next year. As well, guests would be arriving to stay—such as Lady Rosamund, Miss Swire and Captain—Lord Branksome rather, as his father died a few weeks after the Armistice.

William acted as an assistant of sorts to Mr. Carson, something that made Thomas rather miffed, but he didn't do much else as he was now _Acting Sergeant Barrow_. William, on the other hand, had no time to revel in his promotion as he was a busy lad—apart from being footman, and Mr. Carson's right hand he was Captain Crawley's valet. Captain Crawley decided that with or without Lady Mary, a valet he did need, and who better than William (as Matthew Crawley preferred to call him instead of the stiff and prosaic Mason as tradition prescribed), who fought alongside him in the front. Thus, he now helped Captain Crawley dress and Mr. Bates went back to his regular tasks.

A tap at the door signalled his wife's return, still in her dressing gown (Mrs. Hughes' birthday gift in 1916), but fresh from the bath, as William could smell the sweet scent of Pears' soap which was an early Christmas gift from Gwen, who delighted in the fact that Daisy came round and married William (both William and Daisy chose not to tell her how that transpired). When Gwen was still working with them at Downton, she and Daisy shared a love for Pears' soap—so sometimes it was Daisy giving Gwen or Gwen giving Daisy. The smell reminded Daisy of newly washed clothes hanging in the clothesline, which she liked a good deal. Quickly, Daisy took off her dressing gown—she was now wearing her chemise and underthings, and she put her corset on. "Can you help me?" she asked William. Daisy wrapped her arms around herself. "Ooooh it's cold. Do hurry up, William." William laced the corset as quickly as he could, marvelling, "You know, Dad used to help Mum with this. It's difficult since there are so many holes to be laced. Why don't you get the one with the hooks?" he asked.

"It costs the earth," Daisy said, shaking her head. "Maybe when Mrs. Patmore makes me her assistant, I could be able to afford it. She said that with a little more training, she could promote me." She took her grey wool uniform and put it on, pulled it down from her head, and smoothed it over. Afterwards, she ran to a chest of drawers and pulled out one, from which she took a pair of black lisle stockings. "You need to get ready yourself. I'll take care of the bed." Daisy grinned at William. "Now, shoo." After William left, she finished dressing up, which including putting her hair up.

In record time, Daisy was able to make the bed, with some time left over. She was due to be down at five thirty, so she took a bit of time to think. It was months after William died—and rose from the dead. It took Anna's reassurance for her to realise that she loved her husband after all—far more than she could ever have thought. Daisy admitted that it changed her—for the better, she hoped. And she was very lucky. Lucky to have married her best friend in the whole wide world, and that they loved each other—Jenny Mellor, or any other girl in Malton wouldn't stand any chance. Daisy giggled to herself. She recalled one day off where she and William visited Dad (Mr. Mason had asked Daisy to call him that too). Mrs. Mellor was there too, having cleaned the house during the morning, and was about to give Dad his lunch.

Daisy then had offered to lay the table and put in four places—one for Dad, for William, for herself, and for Mrs. Mellor. While she was doing that, Mrs. Mellor had given her the once over.

* * *

_Two weeks ago_

"So you're the kitchen maid William has married. How long have you known William?" she asked.

"For long, ma'am. Five years." Daisy replied, and then proceeded to carrying on with helping Mrs. Mellor.

"William's grown up with my Jenny," Mrs. Mellor said, with an air that said that her daughter should have had the right of precedence.

"So I have, Mrs. Mellor," William said, as he brought out the pot of tea to the table. "She's a nice girl. But I've got my Daisy, and she's the entire world to me."

"What do you know about work in a farm?" Mrs. Mellor, it seemed, was hell bent on grilling Daisy, who replied quietly, "I don't know anything about work in a farm. But I can learn, and I learn fast. I wake up early every day, ma'am. Carrying heavy buckets of coal, making fires for twenty rooms out of a hundred ain't exactly easy work either. Then there's the meals—I help cook seven courses of meals nearly every day."

Dad walked into the kitchen after tending to a sick cow. "That's right. Daisy's no stranger to hard work. She knows how to cook too."

"How can you let William marry that—that—little—_nobody_?"

"See here, Mrs. Mellor! My daughter-in-law is a decent, respectable girl who knows the value of hard work! She means all the world to William, and I for one, am glad that I finally have a daughter! If you continue to cast aspersions on her, I guess I shall have to look for someone to help who also has an open and kind heart."

Daisy stood rooted on the spot, with forks, spoons, and knives in one hand. So stunned she was that she didn't notice that her husband took her free hand with his and squeezed it, as if to say, _You've nothing to worry. Let Dad handle this._

"Well, I never! The rest of Pike Corner shall hear of this," Outraged, Irene Mellor gathered her things and left in a huff.

Once the irate neighbour was out of earshot, Daisy apologised. "I'm sorry if she had to go away. I know how much you rely on her."

"Nonsense," Abner Mason protested. "I can't have a neighbour slighting my new daughter." Daisy blushed. "Thank...you."

"You're one of us now, Daisy. Your new family," William said, grinning.

* * *

Everybody upstairs was busy as well. The convalescents were still there, and they were given token presents—a scarf, a new pair of socks, a bag of caramel popcorn balls (Sybil requested Mrs. Patmore if she could procure Daisy's assistance in making them the day before) an orange, and a stick of candy. Edith and Lavinia distributed the gifts, assisted by William, which cheered up the convalescents greatly.

After the presents were distributed, Edith was startled when Evelyn Napier walked toward her and handed her a large box. "It's from Captain Dunbar. He gave this me yesterday. He apologises that he couldn't be here today, as he had to catch the midday train to Glasgow." Edith's face fell, but quickly recovered. "I suppose I'll have to wait until New Years' Day until I can give his present to him," she said. "Now," Edith said smiling, "Tell me about your wonderful news. Is it what I think it is?" Lavinia's face was impassive, but her cheeks were glowing. "It'll be better if we announce it during dinner," she said, shyly. "Don't worry," she continued, "Matthew was the first to know."

"I couldn't be any happier," Evelyn said grinning. He told Edith how he courted Lavinia, during the time they were trying to think of something that would help Mary get rid of Carlisle. Mary was still engaged to him, Edith knew, but she hoped that her elder sister would finally break it. He was going to be there at dinner, Edith thought with a shudder. However, when she, Lavinia and Evelyn walked to the dining room, Richard Carlisle was _not _there. Mary's face was unreadable—a mixture of relief and guilt, Edith thought. _I can't say I blame Mary for being relieved,_ Edith thought.

Mary caught Edith's eye and slipped over to her side.

"He's not coming," she confided, which for Edith, was a rare thing for Mary to do. "And by God, I can't tell you how _relieved_ I am."

"What's happened to him?" Edith asked, in a whisper.

"Hasn't Lavinia told you?" Mary asked, and Edith answered by a shake of her head. "What did Lavinia say?" she asked her older sister.

"He's got the flu that killed a lot of the soldiers during the War."

Edith bit her lip. "Oh, dear God. I...I suppose we can talk later. I'll go upstairs and put this box on my bed. I'll run a bit late. Where's Sybil?" she asked.

"In search of Daisy's room—she wants to give Daisy something that she didn't want the other scullery maids to see. What's in that box?"

"I have not the faintest idea what's inside. Evelyn tells me Captain Dunbar asked him to give it to me."

"Perhaps he's got a tendre for you."

"I doubt it," Edith was non-committal. "He's become a really good friend and I'll be sad to see him go when the convalescents leave."

Mary grinned. "The lady doth protest too much." Edith made a face. "All right, I do feel something for him. Special, really," she admitted. "What about Matthew?" Edith asked Mary, whose face turned from mischievous to bleak. "I don't know. I was hoping Richard would be here so I could break it."

"Has he asked you to marry him? And does he know...about..." Edith began, and trailed off. Mary nodded miserably. "He knows about Pamuk, so I'd doubt if he'd still want to marry me. After all, a Turkish emissary died in the arms of a slut," she bit off. "And that slut was me. I'd hardly think someone as good as Matthew would want to marry someone who is damaged goods." Edith remembered the words Mary said, and sighed. "If only I could take it back. I'm really sorry." To her surprise, Mary nodded. "I know. I understand." From the distance, she saw their youngest sister, resplendent in a smoke-blue chiffon and velvet dress. It was one of Sybil's old frocks that she refused to wear because of the war, and she had asked the seamstress to make something new out of it. The dress brought out Sybil's figure—she had all the curves in all the right places, whereas she and Edith were slim and willowy. Then again, Sybil had other passions, and wearing the right kind of frock was the least of her priorities.

Right behind Sybil was William, looking a bit flustered and panicked—he looked like he felt that Carson would have his head. Mary and Edith could hear Sybil telling the footman-for-the-night that "you don't have to worry, William, I'll speak to Mr. Carson—he won't have your head for helping me give Daisy's Christmas present!" Edith and Mary looked at each other and grinned. It was Christmas, after all, and a time for joy.

Mary was startled when Edith took her hand. "Mary...do you think we can get along a little better in the future?"

She took a deep breath, and squeezed Edith's hand. "I doubt it. But let us love each other, as sisters should." Edith squeezed her sister's hand in return.

* * *

Up at the servants' quarters, a delighted Daisy Mason twirled about the room, in front of a large, old oval mirror. She had finished all the washing up and putting away food in the larder, and Mrs. Patmore told her that it was time for her to go up.

"Up you go, missy! William tells me there's something for you upstairs—he wouldn't tell me what that is."

So she did as she was told, and found a large box on the bed, with a letter on top. Daisy opened it, and it was from Lady Sybil.

_24 December 1918_

_Dearest Daisy,_

_I wish you and William nothing but the happiest of happy Christmases! _

_In this box are a dress and a pair of new shoes for you. With victory upon us, I don't know if Mr. Carson and Papa will revive the annual Servants' Ball—God only knows that there would be one and I hope that the convalescents would be included! Those brave, gallant men have laid down their lives for King and Country; it is only right that they should be rewarded. _

_Anyway, not to digress, in the event that the annual tradition is revived, I would be nothing but thrilled to see you wearing the dress—the colour pink suits you well and no doubt William would agree with me. This is also to thank you for being so sweet and patient with me when I was learning the basics of cooking! You have no idea how helpful you were being—William is lucky to have you as his wife._

_Also included is a pot of cream for your hands—to keep them from being too chapped and dry—washing dishes and the cold weather seem to have that effect on you, you poor darling. _

_I should put my pen down—I don't know when you would be able to read this—but I've heard from Mr. Carson that you and William would be on your day off to see Mr. Mason—so it's best that you have a good rest so you can leave early! _

_Gratefully yours, _

_Sybil Crawley._

Daisy eagerly tore the brown paper wrapping, and opened the box. The tissue paper revealed a dress—heavenly one in Daisy's eyes. It was a lovely rose, a familiar one. She remembered Lady Sybil wearing that rose-coloured frock—what was called an "afternoon dress". There was lots of lace at the hem and at the collar. Quickly, Daisy took off her kitchen maid's uniform and tried on the frock. Then she took off her shoes, and slipped her feet into a pair of pale pink slippers. Daisy twirled around in front of the mirror. She looked at herself, and took another twirl. For a moment, she felt like she was a princess. Well, she was sure the King's daughter had dresses prettier than Lady Sybil's—but tonight—just tonight—Daisy felt she was one.

Daisy was absorbed in twirling and even imagined bowing to a dance partner that she didn't notice that her husband came in her room, and he put his presents down on the bed. She was surprised when she felt that her hands were being taken, and a familiar voice spoke. "May I have this dance, my lady?"

Daisy looked up. "Oh!" she said, delight causing her cheeks to turn as pink as her dress. "Yes you may, my lord," she added with a giggle, and let him take her hands. They danced about in the room, and Daisy felt as if there was really music—fancy music that was being played at Lady Sybil's sixteenth birthday—and at the garden party. They whirled about for a long time, and William gave news of his own.

"Mr. Crawley's gave me a new coat. Well, it's actually an old one, but he was wearing it when we did a patrol—when we—ah...you know." William remembered how Mrs. Hughes told him how Daisy was worried—frantic, really—when he went missing with Captain Crawley, as he was then (Matthew Crawley and William had decided that William would call him Mr. Matthew to his face, and Matthew was fine with calling him with his name, as he thought that Mason was too dry, too impersonal, considering what both of them have gone through).

"Ooooh, won't you try it on?" Daisy asked her husband, who nodded. William took the camel-coloured coat on the bed, and was assisted by his wife, who buttoned up the whole coat for effect, and smoothed over the shoulders.

"You look very smart," Daisy said. "It's kind of Mr. Crawley to give you this coat."

"He says that he'd like nothing better than to give me this coat. We both thought we'd never get out of it alive."

"Well, I'm glad you're alive and safe," Daisy said, "but it's quite late now, so...I s'pose we'd better get to sleep."

"You're right," William said. Reluctantly, he let go of his wife's hands, but Daisy hugged him and she said, "Happy Christmas, William." He now knows that Daisy loves him, but he still thought that it was a miracle that he rose from the dead.

* * *

**I'm so sorry that this chapter is late again-and it's one of the most awkward. Either way, I'd still like to know how you feel about it! Writing this chapter required a re-watch of Series/Season 2, episode 5 and onwards. I do hope that with later chapters, I'd make the events fit with the latter episodes. Chapter 13 is in the works, and a review for this chapter would be much appreciated.**

**Till Chapter 13!**


	13. Before Dawn

_Boxing Day, 1918_

Early in the morning, William and Daisy set out as they had to catch the bus to Malton. William carried the large old Gladstone bag between them. He and Daisy took turns carrying the bag, as it was a bit heavy, and William still got tired easily. Not as much as he was months ago, but he still needed careful monitoring.

Mrs. Hughes lent Daisy a burlap bag that held hers and William's breakfast. Mrs. Patmore prepared it for them—and confidentially, Mrs. Hughes said to William, "She's bursting with happiness seeing the two of you that she's prepared your breakfast—or something to stay your stomach until you get to the farm. Have a safe journey, you two." William blushed a little. "Th-thank you, Mrs. Hughes. As I've said, you're a very kind woman, and it's no wonder this house runs smoothly."

Elsie Hughes blushed as well. "Stop flannelling, William, or you'll miss your bus." Privately, she was touched. Daisy noticed that the housekeeper was using one of her Christmas presents to her, a pale pink handkerchief with strawberries embroidered at the corners, and was a bit startled that the housekeeper touched her arm. "And thank you for your lovely present. I must say, I'd never run out of handkerchiefs, as you, Anna and Gwen keep giving them to me. Now, off you must go. Be safe, take care of each other. And dress warmly, when you're there!"

Once they were out of the house, William and Daisy had to walk quickly so they wouldn't get cold. "I'm glad you got that good coat. Are you warm enough?" Daisy asked.

William nodded. "As warm as can be. Oh, look. There's a moon." Daisy looked up at the moon rather wistfully. "How lovely." Setting a brisker pace, she continued, "We have to walk faster now. I can't have you catching your death of cold." William grinned at his wife. "A bit of sniffle can't kill anyone," he said cheerfully. Daisy only laughed and rolled her eyes at her husband.

They were already by the front door when they noticed the car parked outside it, and a slightly peeved Branson inside the car.

William couldn't help it, his curiosity prompted him to walk to the car and speak to the slightly irked chauffeur. "Lord Branksome can't be leaving this early," William remarked tentatively to Tom Branson, who rolled his eyes and shook his head. "It's not Lord Branksome and Miss Swire. It's Lady Edith, really. She says it's an emergency of sorts. Don't know what it is about, really."

"Where is Lady Edith going?" Daisy asked. She rubbed William's arm in a quick, constant motion to keep him from getting cold.

"Er...she mentioned that she's visiting someone in Glasgow." Tom Branson was still peeved. He was prevented from speaking further as Lady Edith walked toward the car, carrying a large suitcase. "It's only for a few days, Branson," she said. "I do appreciate this, you know. Oh, William, Daisy! Where are you both off to?"

"We're going to me Dad's farm for Boxing Day, my lady. We hope that you have a safe journey."

"Oh!" Edith said. "Branson, why don't we drop off William and Daisy to the bus station at Thirsk? Come into the car, both of you—especially you, William. We don't want you catching the flu, even if they say it's a virus." Edith got into the car first, and beckoned Daisy to sit next to her. William clambered in, and sat beside Branson. The drive to the bus station was in comfortable silence. Lady Edith looked pensive, biting her lip every now and then, and Daisy was admiring the snow-covered village. The silvery glow of the moon made the view even better. Since the daughter of her employer didn't talk so much, Daisy was left to her thoughts. She was thinking of a painfully embarrassing conversation with Lady Grantham about married love. Mrs. Hughes offered Lady Grantham the use of her sitting room, so they could converse in public. It was a few days before Christmas, and Mrs. Patmore told her to get cleaned up.

* * *

_A few days ago_

Daisy was crimping the pie crust when Lady Grantham walked into the kitchen, looking for Mrs. Patmore.

"Daisy?" Lady Grantham spoke, smiling. "Is Mrs. Patmore anywhere around?"

"She's in Mrs. Hughes' sitting room, my lady," Daisy replied, trembling rather slightly, causing her ladyship to smile even more. "No need to worry about anything, my dear girl. Go on and finish making your pie." Lady Grantham left and proceeded to the housekeeper's sitting room. Thinking no more of it, Daisy popped the pie into the oven, and took the huge bowl of cream from the scullery, covered in a starched cloth. Lord only knows how she'd be able to whip cream this thick. In her head, she made a mental list—the cream—and she had to make caramel for the pie. She would have to ask William where the sauce boat was.

By dint of unceasing effort, the cream was finally whipped, and some sugar was sprinkled to give it a hint of sweetness. Presently, her husband walked into the kitchen, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. He dipped his finger into the cream. Belatedly, Daisy noticed what William did and rapped at his hand. "That's for dinner upstairs, you silly monkey," she said grinning. He grinned back at her. "Too little, too late. What are we having tonight?"

Daisy looked at the receipt cards for the servants' dinner. Sausages and mashed potatoes with gravy and peas, and cauliflower cheese—she need not worry about the upstairs dinner since she and Mrs. Patmore already took care of it, as well as the meals for the convalescents.

"Sausages and mashed potatoes. I need to see what we're going to have for pudding, though. We've had semolina pudding a few days ago already, so I suppose I'll collect old bread and make pudding out of it."

William was about to go to the bread-box when Kitty Jennings, one of the scullery maids went to the kitchen and placed the potatoes on the kitchen table. "Potatoes, Daisy. Hope dinner's gunna be tasty. I'll be right back with th' peas and th' sausages." William waited for Kitty to leave and rolled his eyes. He remembered the girl nearly burning the house down when she neglected the stove and the soup was boiling, and was trying to make it look like it was Daisy's fault. Also, Kitty had a Britain-sized crush on William and couldn't see why he married Daisy.

"Did Mrs. Patmore know about the soup?" William asked.

"If you're asking if she finally knew that it wasn't my fault, yes." Daisy grinned. "Alice was there it happened. She told Mrs. Patmore that it was Kitty's fault. Make yourself useful." She washed the potatoes and gave another peeler and a potato to her husband, who began to peel with alacrity.

In the housekeeper's sitting room, both Elsie Hughes and Beryl Patmore were startled by a knock. Elsie nodded at her friend, asking her to open the door. Their surprise doubled when they saw Lady Grantham standing outside. Mrs. Patmore ushered the countess into the room, and sat in one of the chairs the cook offered her. "My lady!" Mrs. Hughes exclaimed. "Is there anything we can do for you?" The countess smiled. "No. I...I'd just like to speak to Daisy. Well, it's a bit private. I was just wondering...how many months has it been since she and William were married?"

"Over five months, my lady. Is there anything wrong with the way Daisy works?" Beryl was in a panic.

"Dear Mrs. Patmore, not at all, in fact, I could actually imagine her as your successor someday. Thing is, I would like to talk to her. _About an entirely different matter_."

"Would you like me to send for her, my lady?" Mrs. Hughes asked her ladyship, who nodded and smiled. Beryl busied herself and got another cup and saucer, and a few sugar lumps in another saucer. "A cup of tea, my lady," Mrs. Patmore said.

Lady Grantham smiled, "Thank you, Mrs. Patmore. Now, about Daisy. When is her next day off?" The housekeeper and cook looked at each other. Finally, Mrs. Hughes replied. "Mr. Carson and I have made an arrangement. We made sure that William's and Daisy's days off coincide with each other."

"Good," Lady Grantham nodded. "She's making considerable progress, isn't she? It seems only yesterday that she was a little girl drenched with rain, and now she's a young woman married to the nicest lad I've ever known, next to Mr. Crawley." She took a sip of her tea and continued. "Where does William sleep? In the male side of the servants' quarters, I presume."

Cook and housekeeper looked at each other again The housekeeper spoke. "Mr...Mr. Carson has agreed, albeit reluctantly, to allow William to sleep in his wife's room. She is sharing her room with no one after Millie Flanagan left, my lady. Also, Lady Edith says that he still has nightmares, the last one occurring after the Armistice. That was why she asked for Mr. Carson to allow William to sleep near Daisy so she could comfort him when they happen."

Mrs. Hughes' report surprised Cora. War did change her daughters, the first of them being Sybil, then later Edith, and Mary. But Edith surprised her most of all. She was, if not more, as selfish and petulant as Mary, and it was rather tiresome hearing the squabbles of her two eldest daughters. But here was Edith, caring for the welfare of every convalescent, and even going as far as making a special arrangement for a servant. Then again, it gave her middle daughter confidence, and it helped pave the way for her to be more pleasant to her older sister. As a result, Edith was happier, she smiled more. And if Edith was happy, then she, as Edith's mother would be happy.

"Mrs. Patmore," Mrs. Hughes said, "Please send for Daisy—I shall be making my rounds, so there would be privacy. Come along now. My lady," she said to Lady Grantham, "Daisy will be along shortly." The two friends left the room, and looked at each other. "I suppose you'll tell me that there's no use making a mountain out of a molehill?" Beryl asked Elsie, who grinned. "You're fond of doing that. But I wonder what Lady Grantham would talk to Daisy about. And why did she ask how long the two of them have been married?"

As they neared the kitchen, Beryl could glimpse William helping Daisy peel potatoes. The two scullery maids, Kitty and Annie were shelling peas—with Kitty glaring at Daisy, who went on with her work and ignored the scullery maid. Beryl Patmore shook her head, as she knew the reason why. As she neared the kitchen, she called Daisy. "Daisy, get yourself cleaned up. Lady Grantham wants you."

"Why on earth for?" asked the rather flabbergasted kitchen maid.

"Don't know. You best hurry up." Daisy quickly washed her trembling hands, untied her apron, and hung it on the back of the cook's chair. Beryl noticed William was still peeling potatoes. "Are you to be our new kitchen maid?" she joked. William was startled, and came close to peeling the skin off his thumb. "No, Mrs. Patmore. I was only helping Daisy." The maids tittered, and Kitty asked Mrs. Patmore, "Is Daisy in trouble?" The question was loaded with saccharine sweetness. The cook prevented the scullery maid from asking more as she said, "The trick of business is to mind your own. Kitty, stop trying to flirt with William. There's nothing more shameful than a shameless hussy like you, clinging on to a married man like a limpet. Now, off you go now."

William tried not to grin with relief, but he caught Mrs. Patmore's eye and she grinned at him.

When Daisy went to Mrs. Hughes' sitting room, she felt that there were butterflies in her stomach. What on earth was Lady Grantham going to tell her? She wouldn't be sacked, wouldn't she?

Daisy opened the door, and a smiling Lady Grantham greeted her. "Good evening, Daisy, I trust that you are well?"

Daisy nodded. "Yes...yes, my lady." Lady Grantham, stood, walked up to her and took her hand. She pulled a chair next to her for Daisy to sit. The next question pretty much startled Daisy that she nearly fell off her chair. "Daisy, my dear girl, how long have you been married?"

"I beg your pardon, my lady?" Daisy squeaked.

"How long have you been married?"

"Well...over four months already, my lady. For five months on Boxing Day, my lady."

Cora swallowed. It wasn't as easy as she thought! She had forgotten that Daisy was a very innocent girl. And sweet, besides—she wouldn't be the one initiating "normal marital relations"! So she took one bold step. "Have you and William—well, have marital relations?" The poor girl looked confused and panicked.

"Well," Cora tried another tack. "When a man is in bed with a woman..." Daisy shook her head wildly. "N—no, my lady. We—we..." Cora took the girl's hand. "It's all right...dear," she said soothingly.

"We haven't, my lady. We don't know...how...it's...done." Well, she wouldn't, but maybe William knew? She should ask William. The only thing she remembered from her childhood was whenever her father went to sleep with her mother, there were screams every night. Then again, her parents couldn't afford to have separate bedrooms like Lord and Lady Grantham (although it was known that her employers shared a bedroom). Then nine months later, a new baby came popping along.

Sometimes, Daisy wondered about her parents—if they ever thought of her at all. They probably never did—they gave her up, didn't they? In many ways, Daisy was glad that she was given away. She found a family of sorts in the servants, and she no longer need to fear from a beating from either her mother or her father. She tried to write to them, when she was old enough to put a decent word on paper, but these letters over the years returned to her, unopened and unread. When she was sixteen and the last letter returned to her, she gave up. Clearly, they didn't care. Or moved away.

Cora looked at the kitchen maid whose face was red as the dress she, Cora was wearing. The poor, dear girl! But she wasn't done yet with her mission. "It's going to hurt the first time. But if two people love each other...it's the most terrific fun!" Feeling that she had completed her mission, she sailed out, and left a petrified kitchen maid in Mrs. Hughes' sitting room.

Daisy went back to the kitchen. Mrs. Patmore and William were still there talking, the scullery maids had left. "What were Her Ladyship on about?" Mrs. Patmore asked. "N—nothing for you to...worry about," was Daisy's stammered reply. She resumed peeling potatoes, the ones that William hadn't peeled. Lady Grantham's question startled her so much that she remained silent for the whole afternoon and evening.

"Cat got your wife's tongue, William?" Daisy heard Mrs. Patmore ask William.

"I...don't know why," William replied.

"Well, get to th' bottom of it."

William forgot to "get to the bottom of it".

* * *

_Back to the present day_

At the front seat, William and Branson had a roaring time laughing and talking.

"So how's married life going for you, William?" Branson asked.

"A good deal better. I never imagined I'd get married to the girl I've always loved." William grinned. Branson gave William a knowing grin. "Will you give your father a grandchild soon?" It was just as well that it was still dark, and the chauffeur couldn't see the footman blush.

"Oh, we..." William's face burned even more, and Branson laughed. "All in good time, William. All in good time."

"Besides, I'm not sure if Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes will allow that to happen. Daisy will be asked to give her notice. I'm not 'xactly sure if I can bear that."

"I'm glad she came around," Branson continued. "I did think it was futile business, Daisy staring moony eyed about Thomas."

"Well, she came around, that's th' main thing. And I think Thomas' steered clear of me after I lamped him. But I don't dislike him. Don't even understand why he hates me so much."

"How's Thomas taking it? You being Carson's favourite boy?" Branson teased, and William laughed. "If I was, I'd have escaped another scolding from Mr. Carson."

"Don't worry about it, Willy. The more he loves you, the more he scolds."

"He's got an odd way of showing it. But I am fond of Mr. Carson. And grateful, too. You have no idea how I've missed Downton during the war."

"What was it like?" Branson asked. He had objections about the war—it was known over the household, and of course, to Sybil. But he would be lying if he hadn't thought of asking those who experienced it firsthand. Someone from the household, of course, apart from Mr. Lang, who left before William and Mr. Crawley turned up at Downton after being reported missing. But then again, Lang had been given an honourable discharge of sorts. If that was what it was called.

William shook his head. "It's hell, really. I was glad I was Captain Crawley's soldier servant. He's very kind, and he sees to it that the soldiers under his command are healthy and well. There was one time—the one at Aisne—it was a complete wasteland. It was a sea of dead men. If you weren't standin', you'd be half dead yourself. Sometimes, people didn't just die because of injuries. Sometimes because they were sick and starvin'. The prisoners, I've heard—those captured by Germans—only had little to eat. Black bread, soup with black peas. Sometimes, if they were lucky, there were meat, but there's precious little, and sometimes there was potatoes, but most of them were mouldy, and not fit to eat."

"Good God," Branson murmured.

"Remember Jimmy Salter, the postmaster's son? He lost his foot in the battle of Piave River. Amputation was the only thing that could be done for him. Oth'wise, gangrene would set in. He's the first one to go home, with a wooden foot."

"I heard he married a French girl." Branson said, and William nodded. "He did. One of those nurses. They were pretty, yes, but my heart beat true to Daisy every single day I was at the front. And it always will. Oh, here's the bus station."

William and Daisy alighted from the car, and gave their thanks to Lady Edith. Daisy wondered what was it that made Lady Edith leave before dawn—to Scotland! However, she thought no more of it as she went inside the bus station.

* * *

**I do apologise for making this late again! I do promise to make Chapter 14 as soon as I can! This chapter is only the starting point to the main action that would take place in Chapter 14! I hope you do like it! Please let me know if there's anything you like or don't like! Feedback is very, very much appreciated!**

**Re: the prisoners' food-I have no concrete idea of what their food must be like, but I've read a novel about a girl (Lucy Maud Montgomery's _Rilla of Ingleside)_, which was set during the Great War, as it was called then. Her brothers go off to fight, and one of them was captured by the Germans. Rilla, the heroine of the story mentioned in passing that her brother wrote of the conditions in the prison, with the emphasis on the treatment of the soldiers, and the food, which consisted mainly of black bread and soup. The meat and the potatoes were my additions.**

**In the DA storyline, the Battle of Amiens took place around July-or was that an error? Because I know the Battle of Amiens took place around August. Anyway, I tried to cite one battle that took place before William Mason and Matthew Crawley were reported missing and before the above-mentioned battle. So I came up with the Battle of the Piave River, which took place in June 15, 1918. **


	14. A Gamble and A Short Holiday

_A little later, the same day_

Daisy bit into an apple turnover. It was still dark, and from the corner of her eye she saw that the clock at the station struck six o' clock in the morning. They couldn't leave yet as there was some sort of delay.

Daisy shook her head. It was still winter, so what did she expect? Her slight fingers held on to the warm turnover more tightly. William was sipping tea from the cap of the flask. It was thoughtful of Mrs. Patmore to have made them a flask full of sweet, milky tea—the cook knew that both her kitchen maid (and the kitchen maid's husband) liked it. After finishing his tea, William filled the cap of the flask with tea again, and handed it to Daisy. "Drink it," he said. "Much warmer for your stomach," he added. Daisy did so, and she mused, "I'm glad you didn't see winter while the war were going on."

"Why?" asked William.

"Well...I can imagine it's cold over there. Remember when we read about the soldiers who didn't fight with the Germans on Christmas day in 1914?" William nodded, and Daisy continued, "I said that the reason that they didn't fight because it was too cold to do so, and they all laughed. Miss O' Brien said I was being silly, and told me to shut up. But I read th' paper that day after all the servants read it. And I looked for th' page for th' weather, and it said it was biting cold that day. I remember b'cause Mr. Carson were moody that day, an' Mr. Bates were acting strange too."

William nodded. He remembered that day clearly.

_Boxing Day, 1914_

_Morning_

There was to be no Servants' Ball; that much was certain. William heard Lord Grantham converse with Mr. Carson, until the duration of the war. There was talk that the way things are going, the war could possibly five years more. Mrs. Patmore was in a state, because she was worried about one of her nephews who went into war, as if it was a lark.

The detritus of the breakfast was cleared, and William was free from his duties upstairs. Lady Sybil was looking daggers at her parents again because she wanted to do real war work, but was not allowed to. William understood exactly how Lady Sybil felt. A few days ago on his day off, he had begged and pleaded with his father to allow him to go, but to no avail. Instead, his father gave him a new bicycle, in order to convince him not to leave.

William saw Daisy at one end of the table, knitting socks for the hall boys who left Downton to fight. _Would she knit socks for me, if ever I would be allowed to go?_ He couldn't help but wonder. Daisy only knitted for the hall boys, and William had a small, nasty sense of satisfaction that she didn't knit Thomas' socks (that lot went to Miss O'Brien). It was a feeling that William stamped down in an instant, because he was more envious than satisfied. Thomas was fighting for King and Country, after all, and he _wasn't._

Just a week ago, William had received another white feather. It was the third one that he received, and he didn't show it to Daisy anymore, because she would feel bad. Sympathy was what he didn't need, he needed support. Someone who would tell him to stand up to his father and go to enlist—but he knew he couldn't go and break his father's heart anyway.

"There you go," Branson said, handing the newspaper to William, who took it from the chauffeur. "Your turn to read the paper."

Absently, William began read the paper, but was later gasping slightly at the headline. "BRITISH, FRENCH AND GERMAN TROOPS DECLARE TRUCE FOR CHRISTMAS DAY". Daisy, it seemed, heard him gasp, and she looked up. "S'anything wrong, William?" she asked, putting down her knitting. William shook his head, and said, "Look, how _extraordinary._ The fighting's stopped, just for Christmas."

Daisy forgot that there were other people in the Servants' Hall, and she walked over to William and began to read the news article over his shoulder, her hands clasped at her back. "I suppose it's too cold for them to fight so they just sang carols instead," she mused. "After all, it's Christmas." The scullery maids tittered at that, and Anna and Lily smothered a giggle. Miss O'Brien was peevish. "Will you shut up, girl? Of course they shouldn't have stopped fighting. They don't care if it was Christmas or bloody Easter. Don't be so silly, Daisy."

Abashed, Daisy spoke no more and read the article over William's shoulder in silence.

_The present day, later in the morning_

_At Malton_

Dad was there in his horse and wagonette. William sat beside his father and Daisy at the back of the wagonette. The drive was cheerful, and the three of them began to catch up with each other. A new foal had just been born, and Dad was looking to buy a new breed of pigs—and what would William think of those Saddlebacks? He would show them the pictures in the magazine at lunch, which he did.

Dad had hired a housekeeper, Meggie Blewett. Meggie was a widow who lived at the end of Pike Corner, and was bored out of her wits. Meggie's granddaughter Millie was now a grown child of four, and she thought that her mother should be able to take care of her. Her son, Phil (Millie's father) had a wooden leg (an injury he received at Vittorio Venetto), and couldn't do much in manner of farm chores. Instead, he worked at the post office, where he sat down and sorted mail, took care of postal bank accounts, and all manner of less strenuous work. Because Phil had steady income and so did her youngest daughter Caroline who now works as a nurse's assistant in Easingwold—her work as a VAD helped matters—meant that Meggie didn't have any problems where finances were concerned. But as she told Abner Mason, she was bored out of her wits, and wanted something new to do.

Meggie welcomed the young couple warmly. "This be William already, Ab? Such a strapping lad! Why, I remember him as a wee bairn in nappies." Turning to Daisy, she said, "You must be William's wife—Daisy, isn't it? Such a bonnie lass. William has chosen well. Can ye cook lassie?" When Daisy nodded and said that she worked as a kitchen maid, and therefore helped cook, the housekeeper's estimation of her grew. Dad's housekeeper reminded Daisy of Mrs. Patmore—with less of the shouting and shrieking. Meggie also had red hair, but she had wide, alert blue eyes. Daisy would never say it in front of anyone, but she suddenly missed her shouting, shrieking superior.

Lunch was a hearty, delicious meal, courtesy of Meggie (as she preferred to be called). Despite rationing, she had managed to whip up a steak and kidney pie, and a large hunk of oven-baked ham materialised. There were also baked potatoes, which Meggie artfully cut up and baked with cheese and bacon, cut into tiny bits. A large loaf of sourdough bread was also present, and an earthenware crock contained butter, in the shape of a clover. For pudding, there was—there was...

Suddenly, Daisy remembered the cake in the burlap bag. She saw it earlier this morning, cleverly wrapped in brown paper, with an envelope, which was secured by twine. "Oh! I remembered something! Mrs. Patmore gave us cake!" Daisy went to an old balloon-backed chair with a faded red velvet seat, where the bag was placed. She took a rectangular shaped package from the bag, and later put it on the table. William took the package and untied the twine, and handed the envelope to Daisy, who opened it, and read the note aloud. "_Dear Mr. Mason, as William and Daisy are to have two days off, I am extending my Christmas greetings to William, Daisy and yourself. Here is a cake that both your son and your daughter-in-law like the most, and I cordially hope that it proves satisfactory to one's palate. A lovely Boxing Day to your family. Yours, Beryl Patmore_. "

"Who's Beryl Patmore?" Meggie asked.

"She's the cook in the house William and me work in," Daisy piped shyly. "She's taught me a lot of things. I'm her kitchen maid."

"Tell her when you get back that it was very thoughtful of her to send one for us. We'll save it for pudding at supper," Dad said.

* * *

_Glasgow Central Hotel_

_The same day, at forenoon_

Edith was having a bad ten minutes, debating whether she should hire a cab and go to Philip's house. Funnier still was the fact that she called Captain Dunbar Philip. When and how she started calling him by his Christian name, she didn't know. Probably after opening his letter to her—which she did the night before, and had been reading it over and over again while in the train.

_24 December 1918_

_Dear Edith,_

_I hope I can already call you that—you have insisted upon me calling you by your Christian name alone but I am afraid I am not as presumptuous. But in my mind, I call you Edith—without the Lady. No matter what you have told me—all your secrets—they remain safe with me. You remain a lady to me. _

_I deeply regret that I couldn't spend Christmas at Downton. My cousin, who has been like a brother to me is getting married in a few days, and he wants me to be there. However, my thoughts are with you—I do hope you had fun decorating the tree. You've looked forward to it, and may I be frank with you? I wish I could have seen you do it. Maybe I could have helped you. I've helped Mummy and my sisters decorate our tree, and I've always thought it great fun to do, and looked forward to doing it—after all those years of war._

_And speaking of trees, this is why I am writing to you. It may sound so sudden to you—but it's not for me. I couldn't take my eyes off you, the day we first met, when you were taking charge of the health of your footman. I was thinking all sorts of mean things about so many things about you, and you have gone and proved me wrong. In some ways, I need to more about you—the months that I've spent working with you on the care of convalescents only gave me a glimpse. As I am writing this, I found myself thinking of you—how you would decorate the Christmas tree at Downton, and how I imagined you in a house of my own, decorating a Christmas tree, with a dog underneath it._

_As a daughter of an earl, no doubt you would not want to leave the life you are used to—balls, hunts, the dinner parties, and fine frocks—all that to live a life of a surgeon's wife. I would totally understand if you wouldn't. But I need to say it—and it surprises me that despite the short amount of time we have spent together, I couldn't imagine spending the rest of my life without you, now that I've met you._

_This letter sounds as incoherent as I already am. But I need to put this in writing—how I feel about you._

_Your Philip._

After reading the letter, which was the first thing she had opened after opening the box, Edith's mind was all agog. Despite the tone of the letter, she wondered if he left the "s" off intentionally, or accidentally. But she felt the same way about him, in a way she could not properly say. Since Edith was a little girl, she kept her feelings to herself—joy, rage, fear. So far, the only emotion she had ever expressed all her life was grief—and felt that she would mourn Patrick all the days of her life. Probably Strallan too—God only knows where he was—but being friends with—well, meeting Philip Dunbar gave her some sort of hope in her life.

Here was a man who she could discuss things openly with, and even argue with them, but still, remain in cordial terms with. And such humour! On his very good days, Philip could make her laugh until her sides ached. He told her about the day he came looking for his dog when he was a little boy, skipping the afternoon classes at school when he learned that his dog was missing, only to find out that it followed him to school and hid behind the coat closet. At thirteen, he was sent to boarding school in Edinburgh—his parents reminded Edith of her late Cousin Reginald and the very much living Cousin Isobel. They certainly had enough to send Cousin Matthew to Radley, and on to university. Although she wouldn't admit it, Edith, like Sybil, envied her cousin because he went to school, and they didn't. Mary didn't seem to mind, however.

_The night before_

_Downton_

_Edith's bedroom_

Edith almost forgot about the other contents of the box, which contained a book about the birds in Scotland, a box of McCowan's toffees (Edith only knew of the toffees from Parkinson's in Doncaster, and was curious about the Scottish ones—Philip remembered Edith's wish to taste the particular confection), a woolly scarf, with a note pinned on it (Philip's younger sister Anne knitted it for a present, as she wanted to give the girl her older brother talked so much about a present), a small notebook filled with flowers, painted in watercolour. Edith noticed the familiar initials: PAD—Philip Andrew Dunbar. A note from him, secured by a paper clip, explained that as a young boy (and until the present) he loved to draw and paint—a skill that proved to be useful when he studied medicine in Edinburgh, as he was required to draw and label some diagrams after dissecting so many living creatures, including humans. The flowers painted and drawn were the flowers most commonly seen in Scotland.

Another package was wrapped in red and white candy striped paper, and tied with twine. Edith untied the twine. Taking a letter opener from her writing table, she opened the package, which contained two folders filled with music sheets of every song imaginable.

_All my favourite songs,_ thought Edith.

Philip, Edith thought, must have put much thought in making the present. Funny, she didn't think of him as an officer—to her, he was a _friend,_ if nothing more.

_Don't fool yourself, Edith. You know you want more. The fact that he wrote you meant something. So, what are you going to do?_

Gingerly, Edith pulled herself up from the floor, and she looked at herself in the mirror. She didn't look anything out of the ordinary, but at least she had courage. Courage to take the bull by its horns, as Grandmama Levinson would say. Quickly, Edith thought of a plan. Since she was still dressed in her evening finery, she would tiptoe to the small library to see if Major Clarkson was still there. If not, she would call the hospital, and ask for Captain Dunbar's address, with a story concocted to achieve her desired result. Fortunately for her, it wasn't necessary, when she went downstairs. She saw Major Clarkson, drinking wine, while conversing with Cousin Matthew.

"Major Clarkson, might I have a few minutes with you?" Edith said rather quietly, her hands clasped at her back. On one hand, her fingers were crossed.

"Certainly, Lady Edith, what can I do for you?" asked the major. Edith couldn't believe her luck, and took a deep breath.

"May I have your nephew's address?" she inquired as calmly as she could, as if she was taking care of details for a picnic.

"I beg your pardon, my lady?" was Major Clarkson's kerflummoxed inquiry.

"I would like to have Captain Dunbar's address. In Glasgow." _Here I go,_ Edith thought. She tried to imagine her baby sister Sybil and what she would do if she needed or wanted something. Putting on the sunniest of smiles, Edith ploughed on. "Well, after months of working with your nephew, Major Clarkson, I am glad to think of myself as his friend. He has been very kind to me (the whitest of white lies—Philip, indeed, had been kind to her, on his cordial days—and to Edith, they seemed to be so happenstance, that she relished every moment), and I would like to send him a token of friendship."

"Can't it wait, Lady Edith? After all, he would be back New Years' Eve."

Putting on a smile that rivalled Sybil's sunniest, Edith shook her head. "Absolutely not, Major Clarkson. Please understand."

The major sighed, and reluctantly, he finally gave his assent. He knew his nephew well. "All right. Should he growl and grouse about it, on your head be it." Which translated to, _I wash my hands off this if anything untoward happens. _"Give me a pencil and a piece of paper," was Major Clarkson's request. He scribbled on a piece of paper the address of his younger sister—Philip's mother.

Edith smiled at Major Clarkson. _Victory,_ she thought. "Thank you," she said, in a tone so heartfelt that Clarkson stared at her as she left, wondering how she made his taciturn nephew a little more sociable.

That night, she started packing for a three day trip, something that she accomplished with amazing expediency. She threw whatever smart item of clothing she could wear in the suitcase—blouses, skirts, frocks that didn't require much care, and wrote necessary notes to the necessary people—but decided to write a general letter. God only knows how Papa would react.

_Back to the present_

Later on, she realised that she had not brought her bedroom slippers. Edith thought that it didn't matter. The flooring of her suite was carpeted; her feet sank into it. And it felt good, really, really good.

Her mind was still debating whether or not to go.

_You're here now, won't you take the leap?_ A little voice inside Edith said. _Ignore what the others say. Hire a cab, go and see him. Gamble, Edith. Gamble._

Which was exactly what she did.

And she found herself calling the reception desk downstairs to ask them to call for a cab. Her hands shook as she tried to smooth her hair before putting her hat on again. She took out the slip of paper into which Major Clarkson had scrawled his nephew's address.

_Here goes nothing,_ Edith thought, and took a deep breath.

* * *

_Downton Abbey_

_Earlier, the same day_

Mary Josephine Crawley stared helplessly at her younger sister Edith's letter—a note, rather. While she knew of her baby sister Sybil's "romantic involvement (as she preferred to call it)" with the chauffeur, she knew little of what went on with her other sister's mind, let alone her heart. They were still in the process of mending fences. At first, it was difficult trying to be pleasant to Edith, but there was a war and there were more important things to think about. Edith, on the other hand, went out of her way to be pleasant, which surprised Mary most. Mary thought she and Edith have gone a long way in trying to get along with each other—she confided to Edith that she was relieved Richard Carlisle would not be present at the family Christmas dinner, and in turn, Edith supported that relief. Mary even teased Edith about the Scottish Captain Dunbar, and there was something in Edith's tone that made her think something was going on. But _what?_

_26 December 1918_

_Dear Papa, Mama, Mary and Sybil,_

_It has been difficult to write this, but I find that I must. Today, I will be in a train to Glasgow, to take care of an important matter. It's about someone I know very well, and am very fond of, and something has happened, and I cannot rest until I see for myself that my friend is happy and well. _

_Will be gone for a few days._

_All my love, E._

In spite of her bewilderment, Mary grinned. Her sister was indeed a Crawley. Once there was something she felt she should accomplish, there was nothing anyone can do to stop her. As her Grandmama Levinson would say, Edith would be "taking the bull by its horns". Mary was certain there were no bulls in Britain. In America probably they would be plentiful. Suddenly, she found herself laughing. If Edith did what she suspected—to see Dunbar—then her sister had more spunk than she thought. And if Edith was able to make that gamble, why couldn't she? If Richard survives from the flu, she would break things with him—scandal or no scandal. The man she really loved knew the truth. And Matthew said that he would never despise her. Perhaps in time?

A puzzled Sybil walked toward her eldest sister, whose back was against Edith's door and a letter was in her hands.

"Edith's in Glasgow. Golly. I think I know who she's going to see." Mary was smiling, but it was not a smug smile. It was more of amusement and amazement—in a good way.

"Captain Dunbar," Sybil said in agreement. "I've always known. The way he looks at her. All the time. And the way they interact—you'd think at first glance that they hate each other to the bone, but it's a different kind of tension—Miss Lambert would say it's a _frisson._" Mary nodded. She remembered their former governess, a very clever young woman, and the only one Sybil adored. Mary toyed with the fringes of her shawl. Both she and Sybil were still in nightgowns, sitting outside their sister's door. "Edith asked me if she and I could get along together in the future, but I told her I doubted it could happen." Mary sighed. "But she's trying, I'll give her that. I suppose there's no harm in giving it a go."

"Are you going to tell Mama and Papa where _exactly_ she's gone?" asked Sybil. Mary shook her head. "In her shoes, I would have gone to Manchester if that's where Matthew chooses to live instead of at Downton."

* * *

**I know, I know, another late update. Am attending a training course at work, and it requires full concentration! Still have two weeks more, then it's over. The next chapter would reveal a step up in William and Daisy's marriage, Philip Dunbar's reaction to Edith's surprise visit, and a delivery of a mysterious telegram for Mary—something that could change her life. Can't wait to start on Chapter 15!**


	15. Surprises and A Turning Point

_Kelvinside, Glasgow_

_The same day, at forenoon_

Edith was standing at the doorstep of the Dunbar home—a modest (well, to Granny's standards) house of Regency design. She liked the feel of it—it looked like a comfortable and happy family home. Not that her own home wasn't, but this one had a different atmosphere. She heard children laughing and someone playing the piano, and a man singing. There was a doorbell, but Edith felt shy suddenly, and was hesitant—should she knock, or ring the bell instead?

_I'm here. I can't believe it—but oh my God, I'm here._

_Now, what are you waiting for, Edith? Go forth and gamble. You're here now. _

She pulled on the chain, causing the bell to ring. It didn't take long before someone answered the door—an adorable little moppet of a girl, with bouncy red curls and huge aquamarine eyes, and seven freckles on the bridge of her nose.

What surprised Edith the most was that the girl was the first one who spoke.

"Hewwo," said the little girl. "Who're you wookin for?"

Edith's mind snapped back to the present. "Er…um...is this the home of Captain Philip Dunbar?" she asked rather falteringly. The little girl nodded, her red corkscrew curls bouncing. "Are you a friend of Unkew Phiwip?" the girl asked.

"Ummm…uh…not exactly. We…we just worked together during the war…" Edith stammered. Then she took a deep breath. The little girl looked at Edith rather curiously. Then Edith soldiered on. "Well, yes. Your uncle is my friend. Is he…" she went on, her courage starting to abandon her again—"is he there?"

The little nodded again. "Yes, he is. Who are you?" she asked quite bluntly, for a child.

"Please tell him that…Edith Crawley is here." The little girl smiled, and replied shyly. "You're very pretty, Miss Crawwey."

Edith blushed. She didn't get called pretty often—not even by little children.

_Out of the mouths of fools and babes._

_No, stop it, Edith. She seems to be a sweet little girl._

"Pwease wait here, Miss Crawwey." The little girl finally said. She went to the door, but before she could open it, a maid opened the door, and she called the little girl in. "Miss Georgie, you're not to open the door to strangers!" To Edith, she said, "Miss, can I help you?"

Edith only gave the flustered maid a reassuring smile. "No, it's perfectly all right. But…is Captain Dunbar here?" she asked, before she could stop herself.

_Get a hold of yourself, Edith._

"Yes, he is, ma'am. Who will I say it is?" the maid asked.

"Please say it's Edith Crawley."

Meanwhile, in the large drawing room, Philip's sister Daphne was playing the piano, and their father began to sing. A familiar one, during the war, a song called "Missing You Dear." His tenor blended with Daphne's soprano. Philip grinned as his father and sister sang. Andrew Dunbar was too old to go and enlist, but he closely followed every bit of the war news. At least that was what Mummy wrote to him when he was in Etaples. Philip could understand the relief of his family that he, Philip Andrew Dunbar survived the war.

A maid was hovering outside the drawing room, and for a while, Daphne stopped playing the piano—and her singing, as well as their father. "Sir—someone to see you, sir," the maid stammered.

"To whom?" Philip asked. "Me, or my father?"

"Umm…it's you, Mister Philip. A Miss Edith Crawley came to see you."

All at once, Philip felt that all eyes were upon him. The maid, apparently, was waiting for instructions. Daphne grinned at him knowingly. His father's eyes were wide with astonishment.

"Sir?" The maid asked falteringly.

"Oh…please tell her to come in." Philip finally said.

A few moments later, Edith was ushered into the drawing room. By then, Daphne was sitting on the chaise longue (pretending to read a magazine), and his father in a large armchair, reading the newspaper—rather too intently, Philip thought.

Edith Crawley looked well—her cheeks were flushed, and her smart salmon coloured coat suited her. The maid helped her out of it, revealing Edith's simple but fetching outfit of pale pink tweed suit that matched her coat.

"Lady Edith—what a surprise." It sounded pretty trite, but to Philip, it wasn't every day that earls' second daughters made a surprise appearance. In his parents' home, at that.

"I'm sorry to have arrived unceremoniously. I…I…can we talk?" Edith blurted out.

There was no denying Philip's surprise. "What about?" he asked blankly, but nodded, he then took Edith to the library, where no one would think of going, as anyone entering that room are expected to maintain a certain degree of silence, unless tea was served.

"Your letter," Edith replied in a near whisper, her courage flagging again.

"Oh," Philip replied, blushing a little. "Pardon me if I was too presumptuous." He saw a slight movement in Edith Crawley's face.

"Did you mean it?" she asked him, a rosy peach tint crawling across cheeks as she whispered.

"Every word," Philip said. It was strange. He felt so calm—never been so calm in his life since after the war.

"Oh," Edith gasped. But she smiled, a dazzling smile born of relief and joy. Philip thought that Edith had never looked so beautiful.

"Permission to engage the enemy?" Philip asked, with a slight quirk of his lips. Edith laughed, and nodded. "Yes," she said jubilantly.

* * *

_Mason Farm_

_Later in the evening_

"I wonder what happened to Lady Edith on her trip," Daisy mused as William braided her hair. She let him do it for her, as he knew how to—William, with his rapport with horses had learned how to expertly braid the horses' manes. William enjoyed it, and so did his wife, and they could talk over what had happened during the day. Tonight was no different.

"I'm sure that's one thing we'd never get to know," William replied, as he deftly tied the pink ribbon at the end of the braid. "Why she'd go to Glasgow, that's a question," he muttered under his breath.

"I suppose you're right," Daisy sighed. She took the wrapper from the nearby chair and put it over her shoulders. It was a present from Anna, and Daisy prized it. She then pulled up the blankets to her chin. Strangely though, she did not feel cold—she felt toasty warm. Probably because of that little pot-bellied stove in William's room where they slept, or because of the way her husband's arm snaking around her waist. She grinned to herself. William was a strapping lad, and most importantly—she is his _wife._ Not Mrs. Mellor's daughter Jenny, or even Kitty Jennings, who had long since given Daisy the evil eye since William rose from the dead.

"Anything funny?" murmured William. Daisy shook her head. "Just feeling incredibly lucky." She grinned again.

"Oh?" William teased, "You certainly didn't feel lucky before the war." His wife blushed. "Oh…I was a little fool back then."

"You're not, anymore?" William couldn't resist teasing Daisy.

Daisy blushed even redder. "'Course not! Oh Will…" Her protests were interrupted by her husband's inquisition on her lips. It gave her a sudden jolt, a warm zing coursing through her body, making her feel wobbly as those jellies she helped Mrs. Patmore make. But Daisy found that she liked the feeling very much, so much so that she didn't mind that her husband's hands wandered all over body—well, at least through her nightgown. She was surprised at this, and she began to giggle. "William Mason—where did you learn all this?"

"Ummm…" William blushed. His superiors at the regiment where he and Captain Crawley belonged sort of took him under their wing, and tried to tell him about the finer art of pleasuring women. Captain Crawley interfered, and refused to let them influence William into going with them whenever they caroused into those French towns. Not that he ever would. He only had eyes for Daisy. "The soldiers told me…uh…well, that's…how men make women happy in bed."

"Miss O' Brien often tells me the soldiers go into French towns and go to bed with…not so very nice ladies." Daisy shyly ventured. William put a finger on his wife's lips. "Daisy, I never did go with these soldiers. I promise you that. And it has never even crossed my mind." His wife, reassured, beamed. Then with a mischievous smile, she asked, "Will you do that again? That felt ever so nice…oh!" William's hand snaked underneath her nightgown. She pressed closer to him, and William kissed his wife again and again.

"I want us to be truly man and wife, Daisy. Can we?" William asked, a hopeful look on his wife. His wife joyfully nodded. The room was cold, but not very cold, as the warmth from William's body transferred into Daisy's, and truth be told, she found it very comforting. Slowly, he removed Daisy's nightgown and pulled it over her head, and he did the same with her underclothes. He allowed his wife to unbutton his flannel pyjamas, then the bottoms and was surprised when his wife kissed his hairy chest, and the rest of his upper body. "Oh, Daisy…" he groaned. "That feels good, very good," he moaned. He in turn, began to explore Daisy's body. "Oh, Daisy. You are very beautiful," he breathed reverently, as if saying a prayer.

"Oh, William…I'm not…I ain't what most people call beautiful," Daisy sighed. William shook his head. "You are, to me. You are very beautiful. Every inch of you," he rasped, as his mouth landed on Daisy's hardening nipple, causing her to gasp. "Oh…oh…William!" she screamed as she founded that his kisses landed between her legs.

"Are you all right?" William asked. Daisy nodded blushing. "Yes, yes that felt very good—oh, William, don't stop." William's mouth continued his siege at the dark triangle between his wife's legs. He didn't know that Daisy had wonderful legs—for a short person, they were still quite long-and shapely. William then lifted himself up, and faced his wife. "Daisy? The…the soldiers told me that it would hurt for the woman…if…if…she's doing it for the first time. If you don't want me to…to…continue, you only have to say the word."

Daisy smiled and shook her head. "Oh, William…I know you won't hurt me."

"I know, but…" William trailed. Daisy put her hand on his. "William, I promise that I will like it all. Because I'm with you." William smiled at this assurance, and he blushed. Daisy giggled at this.

"Are you ready?" William asked Daisy, and she nodded. He went in, little by little, until Daisy had fully sheathed him. He began to move inside her, and Daisy wrapped her legs around him. When he finally exploded inside her, Daisy grinned. "No more turning back," she said.

* * *

_Downton Abbey_

_The same time, during the evening_

"Downton Abbey, good evening, this is Carson the butler, speaking," the butler's booming voice intimidated the female caller slightly.

"This is…this is Miss Lavinia Swire, Mr. Carson. Is Lady Mary there, or is she occupied at the moment?"

"_And what business do you have with Lady Mary, Miss Swire?_" the butler's voice boomed again.

"It's a very important message, Mr. Carson, or I would have written instead," Lavinia said, a little more bravely.

"Oh, all right, then. If you can wait for a moment," Lavinia could swear that she heard a hint of sulkiness in the authoritative boom in the butler's voice.

It took a few minutes before Mary was located, in Edith's makeshift office, having taken over her duties for the time being. She had Edith's permission, which was expressed as a sort of request in her telegram, having been sent from the Glasgow hotel this afternoon, "AM SAFELY IN GLASGOW STOP IN THE CENTRAL STATION HOTEL STOP PLEASE TELL MAMA AND PAPA THAT ALL IS WELL STOP CAPTAIN RATHER DR DUNBAR WISHES TO SPEAK TO PAPA AFTER THE NEW YEAR STOP IF IT IS ALL RIGHT WITH YOU KINDLY TAKE OVER MY DUTIES STOP SYBIL CAN HELP YOU GO THROUGH THE LEDGERS STOP SHE KNOWS WHAT TO DO STOP ALL MY LOVE E STOP."

Carson found Mary writing a report in one of the ledgers and was about to clock off from her duties. The butler admitted that he was not used to seeing her young ladyship wearing an apron over her resplendent evening frock. "My lady," Carson intoned, "Miss Swire wishes to speak to you," he said, with a slight notch of disdain, as if Lavinia Swire had no right to be on friendly terms with Mary. "It is a very important message, she says." Mary only nodded her thanks and went straight out to the hall, where the telephone was located.

"Hello, Lavinia dear. Is everything all right?" Mary asked gently. Lavinia was a sweet girl, a kind girl, and Mary thought that Carson was prejudiced against her, all because she had been previously affianced to Matthew. Mary bore the girl no ill will, and was glad to finally call her a friend. Lavinia, apart from Evelyn and Matthew, and of course, Edith, knew what had happened with Pamuk.

"Mary, I have rather startling news to tell you. I think that it's best that you sit—are you sitting down already?" Mary found a chair, pulled it close to the table where the telephone, and sat on it. "Yes I am, Lavinia. What is it? Is your father in good health?"

"Yes, yes he is, Mary. Thing is…Richard isn't. He's…he's _dead_, Mary."

_Oh dear God. I'm free_, Mary thought. _I know I ought to be sorry Richard's dead, but all I can think about is that he's dead, and I'm free. Matthew and I can be together if he wants me, and we'll both be very happy._

"Mary? Are you still there?" Lavinia asked.

"Yes, yes, I still am, Lavinia." Mary assured the younger girl.

"You're free, Mary. You're finally free. But there's still one thing. I have something to show you. When is the most convenient time for you to go up to London? I know it's very busy there since Downton's a convalescent home, and…"

"No, it's fine. Hopefully before New Year's Eve? Edith is in Glasgow at the moment, and I'm taking over for her in the meantime. If she's back before New Year's Eve, I'll take the first train up to London," Mary promised. "I'll get Papa to ask to have Grantham House opened."

"No, please do stay with us, Mary. Daddy and I will be very glad to have you."

"Are you sure, Lavinia? I don't want to intrude…"

But Lavinia was sure. "Oh, honestly Mary, I would love to have you. Please do say yes, and I'm perfectly sure we'll have a lovely time. How is Matthew? I'm sure he's getting along fine, you've been taking care of him so beautifully." Mary supplied Lavinia news of her former fiancé, and the other girl was relieved. "Oh, Mary. I still haven't lost hope he'd walk again. I'm praying for it. For both your sakes. I'm not saying he's not fine as he is right now, although I'm sure he would wish to walk alongside you always. Like I said after Matthew was injured, I've always thought that the two of you look so right and perfect together."

Mary smiled into the phone. "That's very kind of you, Lavinia."

"No, I do mean it," Lavinia ploughed through. "We're both lucky that we've known Matthew. Such a good and honourable man." Mary could swear that she could hear a bit of a giggle on Lavinia's end of the line, "Do invite me to your wedding, Mary. I'm perfectly sure that won't be far off. Wheelchair or no," Lavinia giggled. Mary couldn't help but join in. "Oh, I don't know, that would be entirely up to Matthew. Then she sobered. "You and Evelyn look right together, if I may say so."

"He's a wonderful man," Lavinia said gently. "We're both shy people but…when he is around, he supplies me more confidence. I hope I inspire the same in him."

Mary smiled again. "I have no doubt you do. I'll send you a telegram before I leave for London," she promised.

"Do that," Lavinia replied. "See you, Mary."

* * *

**I'm so, so, so sorry it took more than a year to complete this chapter. My old laptop got busted, and it took me ages to find if I've got a copy of this chapter hidden somewhere and start with what I've left. But alas, I wasn't so lucky, and I've had to start over again, plus work and other stuff interfered. But here it is, and I promise to whip up Chapter 16 sooner! **


	16. Harmony

_Two days later_

_At the Downton Abbey kitchen_

"Back to the grindstone, I must say," Tom Branson cheekily remarked to William as he and Daisy were peeling potatoes, while the chauffeur watched them. The chauffeur, feeling a bit guilty watching them peel potatoes while he stood idly, began to pick up a potato and look for a knife. William rested for a bit as his wrist was feeling a bit tired.

"Strange as it may sound, it _is_ nice to be back," was William's dry remark. Both young men grinned. Their conversation was put to a halt as Mrs. Patmore bustled in. "William, if you're going to just stare at your wife while she peels potatoes, you better scurry off to see what Mr. Crawley wants," she rasped. The young valet, chastised, scurried off to see his superior. "Daisy, are you done with the potatoes?"

Daisy nodded, "Yes, Mrs. Patmore, thanks to William, my work was cut in half."

"Well, well, then. Wonders never cease. Mr. Branson, do you have plans to replace Daisy as my kitchen maid? Because you have a long way to go, lad. Off with you, now." The chauffeur, chastened, deposited the knife and potato on the table, and left.

The fiery-haired cook, relieved to have a moment alone with Daisy, smiled at the young woman. "So how did you holiday go?"

"Oh, Mrs. Patmore, it were wonderful. And Mr. Mason was ever so nice. It's like…havin' a real father, if you get my meanin'." The cook nodded. She had seen many changes in Daisy lately. For one thing, the girl was happier, and…more confident. And the way she was with William, one wouldn't believe that months ago, she was a reluctant bride. And William was a happier lad for it.

"What did you and William do?" Beryl Patmore had to admit it, she was curious. She had never a beau in her life. Somehow, she felt like she was living vicariously through Daisy, who was the daughter she never had.

"Oh…well he took me around his father's farm—sh—showed me around."

Looking at the young woman's face, which was by now red as a beet, Beryl sensed that there was more to it. But she said no more.

"Are you happy, Daisy?" Beryl asked her kitchen maid. It was a stupid question, but she wanted to know the answer nevertheless.

"Yes, Mrs. Patmore," Daisy said with a smile, before focusing her attention on one of the potatoes in the bowl. She took one and proceeded to slice it. "The world is full of surprises, ain't it, Mrs. Patmore?"

Beryl looked at Daisy again, whose face was turning into a soft shade of rose. Something was afoot.

But she only said, "Indeed."

The two of them went on to chop potatoes companionably. Daisy told Mrs. Patmore that her father-in-law's housekeeper was full of praises about the cake she, Beryl had sent over through Daisy.

"Mrs. Blewett likes your cake, Mrs. Patmore. She said that it was the best fruitcake she has ever tasted."

"Blimey, you must be only buttering me on, are you?" The cook was sceptical. Daisy shook her head. "Oh no, she liked it. She wanted to know how you made the cake light."

"I'll be dashed," the cook said, astonished. "We can invite her and your father-in-law for tea one of these days, Daisy," was the cook's resolute addition. Daisy nodded. She imagined that her superior and her father-in-law's housekeeper would get on well like a house on fire.

After a period of more companionable silence, Beryl broke it. "I hear from upstairs that there's talk of Lady Edith becoming engaged to that surgeon."

"Captain Dunbar?" Daisy asked.

"What do you know about it?"

"Nothing. Just thought they disliked each other, that's all." Daisy shrugged as she put in the last batch of diced potatoes into the large brown bowl.

"Well Lady Mary and Mr. Matthew disliked each other on sight, didn't they? Then they were about to get engaged until something happened." Beryl said.

"I wish Lady Mary would marry him instead of that horrid Mr. Carlisle. He talks in that awful sneery voice. Don't like him at all."

T he cook nodded in agreement. What the eldest Crawley daughter saw in that newspaperman was beyond comprehension. "Too bad our opinions won't matter," the cook murmured. "Let's put the potatoes on to boil now."

* * *

_The same day, around forenoon_

Mary paced back and forth in her bedroom, waiting for her sisters to come. Anna had just left her room, and for some reason, she felt rather fidgety. Edith came in first. "Are you all right, Mary?" she asked quietly. Her older sister was unable to answer so she sat on Mary's bed, the way she always did. Sybil followed suit. Before Sybil opened her mouth, Edith remembered to thank Mary. "Thank you for taking over for the last two days. You were doing so well, Mary. The soldiers liked you, and asked if you could sing to them again like you did at the concert."

Mary turned, a blush on her face. "They said that? Really?"

Edith nodded. "They enjoyed it when you put up a chess contest, kept them on their toes, Major Harcourt says."

Her older sister smiled shyly, which was completely unexpected. Mary's smiles were never shy—they have been always knowing, confident, and to some extent, rather grating. Edith marvelled at the change in her. "Did you enjoy it?" Edith asked of her older sister. Mary nodded. "It wasn't so difficult to keep track. You have a good system so I just continued where you left off." The two sisters smiled—they finally realised that it was easier to talk pleasantly than to exchange barbs.

"What were you going to tell us? Hope it's nothing serious." Sybil piped up. Edith looked up from the book she brought with her. "Yes, I agree with Sybil. I hope it's nothing serious."

"Well, it depends on what you think _is_ serious. Lavinia rang me up two nights ago to tell me Richard Carlisle is _dead._"

"_What?" _exclaimed the two younger Crawley girls, both mouths agape.

"It's confirmed in the papers yesterday morning. I don't know what's going to happen to the newspaper—or who's going to take over—in fact, that's why Lavinia's asked me to go to London…probably because of matters related to his estate."

"I'm sorry to hear he's dead. But I'm relieved," Edith said quietly. "You're free of him, Mary." Mary looked at Edith carefully, for signs that her younger sister was insincere. But there was none. In fact, during the war, Mary had observed that Edith had done a lot of growing up—spoke very less and went about her work as an assistant convalescent home administrator—and took pride in her work. She was able to talk to the officers—talk to them about their families at home, helped write their letters, providing them with comfort and reassurance about their health—with confidence, and a good amount of grace.

"That's what I thought when Lavinia rang. I feel nothing but relief."

"Why were you going to marry him, then?" Sybil wanted to know. Mary was surprised by Edith's reply. "It's a very complicated thing, Sybil. Can't explain it here. The most important thing is that Richard Carlisle is dead, and Mary is now free."

"You're right," Sybil sighed.

"When are you going to London?" Edith asked. "Tomorrow, if I can't get a train after lunch." Mary replied. "That reminds me, I'll have to pack. Sybil darling, if you see Anna, please tell her to come to my room after dinner. Edith, I'll show you the ledgers before we go to the dining room. Major Clarkson says that the convalescent care will close by the spring, so he's asked me to tell you to have your ledgers submitted before then."

Edith waited for Sybil to leave the room, and she tapped her older sister's shoulder.

"Thank you for taking over, Mary."

"Not a problem. I enjoyed it, truth be told."

"Mary?"

"Yes?"

"I know we don't see eye to eye about things and we've fought like cat and dog every day. I'm truly sorry about that letter I wrote to the Turkish Embassy. I've lived to regret it ever since. But we've both changed and grown up…can we get along better in the future? I don't mean to go over it so soon—it doesn't have to happen overnight."

Mary saw the sincerity in Edith's face. "I suppose we can try," she said with a small smile. Then it widened into a grin. "So…tell me what happened in Glasgow. What happened between you and Captain Dunbar?" Edith grinned back. "Send a note to Sybil and I'll tell you both before we go to sleep. That is, if you're not going to London. If you are, save it until you get back."

Mary shook her head with a smile. "Don't believe this is something I can pass up. I'm going tomorrow. I'll just phone Lavinia this afternoon."

"Then I'll tell Sybil while I make the rounds then," Edith said.

"Do that."

* * *

"So how did your holiday go?" Matthew asked William as the latter gently brushed Matthew's clothes in his closet.

"Quite well, sir. A restful two days with me wife is enough for me. How did you get on, sir?"

Matthew shrugged. "Quite well enough. Only I've been feeling those twitches and twinges again. On my legs and my thighs as well this time. No. I can't tell anyone just yet. Well…I've thought of telling Mother, but you know her…when she takes something up, she fights to the finish."

"Well sir, it's a good thing to be able to stand up for something."

"It's not like you don't know Mother, William." William, nodded in agreement with Mr. Crawley, finished with his brushing then looked at Matthew's clothes. "Sir, would you be going out with Lady Mary this afternoon? Or visit Mrs. Crawley?"

Matthew shook his head. "Mother is at York for the day, Lady Mary said so. Branson drove her there. I don't know if Lady Mary herself will be going out. She might be. I heard her muttering about something quite urgent, and she won't tell me what it is."

"I hope she'll fare well. Nasty weather today, sir, if you don't mind me saying."

"What I really _want_ to know is what's going on," Matthew said a bit testily. His valet looked at him owlishly, but did not say anything. Matthew sighed. "Sorry, William, I didn't mean to snap." William shrugged. "No one wants to be kept in the dark. But sir, you know Lady Mary very well, don't you? I'm sure she'll bring it up when she's good an' ready."

Matthew smiled sheepishly. "Of course, you're right, William." A teasing smile flitted on his lips. "So…have you taken things further with Mrs. Mason?"

"Sir!" William was shocked. Matthew laughed. "The fellow doth protest too much." William's face was as red as one of Matthew's scarves. "Of—of course," stammered the young valet. Matthew laughed again, rather apologetically this time. "Just teasing, of course."

"Well…" William began. After all, he could trust Mr. Crawley in a confidence. Matthew raised an eyebrow and smiled quizzically.

"Seems like you've got a story to tell, William. I'm all ears."

"Well…well sir, remember when we were in that town near…near Amiens? Lieutenant Petrie and Captain Jones talked about ermmmm….er…going to that house where…there are…plenty of ladies? They all went on about getting into…into a girl's pantalettes?"

Matthew was all ears. He remembered that evening.

* * *

_St. Quentin, France_

_May 1918_

Petrie and Jones were talking about how to spend their leave—debating whether they would go to the sea, or going to Madame Lumiére's house of ill repute. Finally, they decided on carousing to Madame Lumiére's. Petrie went on and on about a girl named Leonie's prowess in handling a man's genitals. Petrie and Jones managed to invite other men from their regiment to go and have a "little fun". Matthew was reading a book and sipping cold milky tea; William was writing a letter to Daisy.

"You there, Mason," Petrie said, "Want to come along with us? Such an innocent lad, it's time you knew the ways of the world! Especially with women!"

William shook his head. "No sir, thank you, I'd rather not. Not my cup of tea."

"Why not?" Jones haw-hawed. "Thought you've got a sweetheart? About time you've showed her a thing or two."

"I'm just not going, sir," William demurred again. Jones, who couldn't believe he was being refused, turned a shade of puce.

"You don't know what you're missing, lad," Petrie laughed. It sounded more like a sneer, Matthew thought, as he was thumbing through a copy of _Moby Dick_, one of ten books given to him by Cousin Cora, who worried that he might be driving himself crazy in the trenches with fear, and gave him books that her brother Harold enjoyed in his childhood and teens. He raised an eyebrow, glanced at William who was intent on writing another epistle to Daisy, and glared at Jones, "he's not going, lads, and that's the end of it." The reply was coldly, curtly delivered.

"Eh, you're a killjoy, Crawley, that's what you are," drawled Petrie.

"You know, I heard that if you catch those diseases from those women, your night stick's going to have gangrene. Still worth the risk, lads?"

Jones laughed. "It's worth the risk, Crawley, you old boy."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Suit yourselves, lads. Now, get on out."

"Right on, sir! Cheerio!" Petrie said in singsong manner.

* * *

_Back to the present_

"Remember Jones?" Matthew laughed. "When he came back, he was spilling out his guts, he drank so much."

"Yes, sir," William replied with a grin. "From what Captain Jones said the day after, Lieutenant Petrie slept most of the evening."

"Ah, a leave poorly spent. So…I sense a tale afoot, Mason," Matthew replied with a grin, his voice a mimicry of the one he used during the war.

"Well…ah…it's just that…Daisy and I are truly man and wife," was the young valet-in-training's reply. Matthew smiled. "In the Biblical sense, I suppose," he said.

"Ummmm yes. It…it was…magic. To hold the person you love in your arms, and…it's just magic, sir." Another blush, Matthew thought, and his former batman would resemble a tomato. But Matthew understood the younger man's reticence and smiled at William. "Well, it's what happens when two people love each other, or at least that's what Mother told me when I was little. So you can imagine my shock when the lads in my halls of residence at Oxford were holding bets who the barmaid was tupping next." Matthew shook his head. "And the war claimed all of them. Or nearly."

"Yes, sir. Indeed, the war has taken our innocence away." William murmured. Matthew was surprised at this grave remark, but he knew what William was trying to say.

"Partly the reason why I've let Miss Swire go," Matthew began, "is because of this war. And this _physical predicament _I am in. I couldn't be properly married to her anyway. Not in that sense you already know."

William suddenly remembered Matthew's friend, Sergeant Milburn, who he knew since childhood. "What happened to Sergeant Milburn? Your friend from your childhood days, sir?" Matthew smiled. "He made it, thankfully, but he now has a wooden right leg. You know, Amiens. But he's engaged to that VAD nurse he met at the field hospital. Remember Nurse Tilly Carrington? The one who gave you ginger tea with lemon and honey for your cold? Sergeant Milburn asked Nurse Carrington to marry him."

"Oh!" exclaimed William. "That's very nice, sir. Very nice indeed."

"The wedding will be early next year, or as soon as they're demobbed. Sergeant Milburn writes that both of us are invited at the wedding, whenever it would be. He adds that Nurse Carrington would like to see you and Daisy."

"That's very kind of him, Mr. Crawley. And it was nice of Nurse Carrington to invite Daisy too."

* * *

Later in the night, the three exhausted daughters of the house gathered together in the eldest daughter's room, the eldest and youngest exclaiming over the middle daughter's engagement ring. The three of them sat on the bed, oohing and aahing.

"It is a lovely ring," Mary said admiringly. "I say, Captain Dunbar has taste."

"Oh, it belonged to his mother—so I should attribute it to his father. But I daresay good taste can be inherited," giggled Edith.

"You're right," Mary said chuckling.

"So…what prompted you to go to Glasgow and not even telling us—_not one peep._ I'm always the last to know," groaned Sybil.

"I originally intended to tell the two of you. But I don't really know what I'd do in case it backfired and he didn't want me there. I don't know…I just didn't want anyone seeing me going into a puddle if it didn't work out."

Mary nodded. She understood. "You haven't answered Sybil's question," she said with a giggle. Edith smiled shyly and presented her sisters Philip Dunbar's letter. Sybil and Mary read the letter twice. "So Captain Dunbar has a romantic bone in his body, after all," Mary chuckled. Edith smiled and blushed. Then she sobered. "I think he's tried his best to keep it hidden, until he went to Downton. His…his fiancée bedded a footman and ran off with him to Bristol. Then…then he buried himself at work, and when the war was declared, he was one of the first who enlisted."

"And it took you to reveal that romantic bone," Sybil said, smiling. "It _is_ romantic. Imagine how you can find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with in a much unexpected place. So how did it exactly happen?"

"What—_what what happened?_

"Don't be coy," Sybil teased. "I can sniff a story a hundred miles away, Edith Violet Crawley."

Edith blushed again. "Well…come to think of it, everything has happened quite slowly. You and Sybil have seen me arguing endlessly with Captain Dunbar about almost every little thing related to the convalescent hospital. He's only lucky I haven't come to the point where I've wanted to hurl the record books at him. But he could be very nice. And funny. Remember the time when he first came and the stable cat was following him in the evening? Phil—Captain Dunbar gave the cat a saucer of milk. The next day, the cat brought along four other cats and they were looking for him. And Captain Dunbar said, like a cat's mew, while pouring some of his milk on the saucer again- "Oh, deary me, meows, this is the last of your milk or the cook will have my guts for garters!"

The girls laughed. "But, if you are engaged to him, we might as well call him Philip," Sybil piped up. Mary nodded. "I agree with Sybil. When will he speak to Papa, though?"

"After the New Year, when he reports back for duty. I really don't know how he will take it, but I can assure him that I will be spending the rest of my life with a man I know won't hurt me." What surprised Edith was after her impassioned speech, Mary took her other hand and squeezed it. Edith looked into her sister's eyes and found that there were tears brimming. "We haven't always gotten along, but I wish you happiness all throughout your lives. I mean it," Mary took Edith's hand and squeezed it.

"Thank you," Edith said gratefully, while returning Mary's squeeze. "I wish you all happiness too, in the future. You…you think you can mend fences with Matthew?" Is there anything that can be done?"

Mary shook her head. "I don't know. He hasn't…he hasn't said anything. All Matthew goes on about is how useless he feels."

"I'm sure that's not true," Edith contradicted.

"That's the message he's sending to me. He's not interested in getting married. He even called off his engagement with Lavinia. So I shan't dare get my hopes up."

"I'll make him change his mind," Edith said resolutely, her mouth a thin line.

"You're not going to _interfere,_ aren't you?" There was a hint of nervousness in Mary's voice.

"Why not? This time, it will be about something good, I promise. No more letters to embassies, you can count on my word."

"_Oh, Edith,"_ was Mary's groan. Edith cut her off. "I think this war has caused us all to grow up at some rate. I know I have. And this has given me the courage to face up to all the horrid things I did to you. I'm not going to expect your forgiveness. But I'm hell bent on doing you a good turn. And this is not because I'm happy that I'm feeling generous. I know it's about time that I did something good. And I'm taking this opportunity. Because I want us to love each other the way sisters should."

Mary's eyes welled up. "Thank you, Edith. I am touched. I truly am."

"Oh," Sybil sighed happily. "We are going to end this year right."

* * *

**Yes I know, I know. Another late posting. But hey, better late than never, right? Work, life and law school has got me so busy, so there.**

**So, there you have it. The Masons happy from their two-day holiday-or shall I say honeymoon? And Edith, engaged to Captain Dunbar. I know you guys want the ultimate Matthew/Mary reunion, but that's just the teaser. You have my word that it's GOING TO HAPPEN. And it's because of...well that will be a surprise! I know Edith's signing up for the engineering of the reunion, but that won't be just a one-woman effort. ;)**

**Already starting Chapter 17!**


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